


starry eyed for you

by drippingcandie



Series: think of all the luck you've got [1]
Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Language, Non-Graphic Violence, Shameless AU, everyone's problematic, except mike, the gang is all here but georgie is just trying to make it through middle school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:29:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drippingcandie/pseuds/drippingcandie
Summary: stan doesn't go running when he sees richie's dirty house, or his five roommates that include the equally fucked up bill denbrough, mike hanlon, ben hanscom, eddie kaspbrak, and georgie denbrough. usually, richie would think that just means he's seen some shit, but stan seems normal enough.richie's been waiting for normal.(new title!!!! yet again!!! )





	1. better than planned

**Author's Note:**

> you may be wondering why i'm starting another chaptered fic. there's only one answer...the stozier tag needs more content. so here's an au sort of based on some plotlines in shameless, but it's definitely not necessary to watch the show (actually it might be more enjoyable if you don't!) i really just picked a few plotlines as inspiration for this fic. 
> 
> warning: in later chapters there may be non explicit sex, drug use, etc. warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter.
> 
> enjoy :)

“Your house is quiet.”

 

Richie looks up from his current task, which was frying eggs, to see Stan standing on the step before last in nothing but his boxers. It was obvious he had just woken up since he was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and all of his curls were askew.

 

He only stood there for a moment though before he waltzed through the embarrassingly dirty kitchen and tucking himself into Richie’s side. It’s awkward mostly because Richie isn’t expecting it, but oddly comfortable because the guy must only be like...what? Five foot seven? He fits perfectly under his left arm while Richie flipped eggs with his right.

 

“You don’t like the house quiet? I can fix that.” He says, pressing a kiss to Stan’s forehead as he slid the eggs onto a chipped plate. Stan manages to move seamlessly with Richie around the kitchen, nuzzling into his neck.

 

“No. No, I like it quiet.” Stan mumbles, and god. His hands were freezing as they inched up under Richie’s shirt.

 

Stan had stayed the night for the first time in their month of dating, which Richie would say is kind of a big step. Stan grew up in a nice neighborhood in Atlanta, clean cut, and apparently was a med student who was just taking a small break. He had a nice apartment in a nicer, more gentrified part of town. He bought his coffee from a cafe every morning. He had a steady job. He was...normal. Richie never did normal.

 

Richie grew up on the South side of Chicago with noise and ruckus and illegal activity. His family managed to scrounge up money to eat every week. Now that he was an adult, he still lived in a messy house. Yes, definitely messy in the sense that the place needed a good scrub down. But it was also messy in the sense that no one who lived their could keep out of trouble for more than a few days.

 

He grins and presses his face into Stan’s hair. “Sorry, babe.” He pulls back a little bit just to spare his boyfriend’s ears. “Boys!” He yells. “Get breakfast while it’s hot!”

 

He hears the familiar noise of stomping feet that sound like a herd of elephants. There’s also a particularly loud bang, which means that Ben probably rolled out of the top bunk again and even though the guy was a gentle giant, it didn’t mean he wasn’t clumsy.

 

Stan groans.

 

“I warned you, Stan.” Richie says earnestly as he heads to the table that sat on the other side of the counter, bringing two plates with him. He pulls a chair out for his boyfriend before sitting down in his own chair and motioning for Stan to come over. “Ain’t no backing at now.”

 

Stan rolls his eyes as he picks up his fork and cuts into his eggs. Richie doesn’t mind when their ankles touch under the table, or how is unpreoccupied hand rests itself on Richie’s knee.

 

Richie reaches hums in contentment as he eats his own breakfast, pushing it around his plate a little bit since it was still hot. That’s what he really like about Stan, he thinks. He’s different from the past significant others that he’s had. Stan doesn’t show off and he isn’t loud. He doesn’t command attention, but if he wants it he’ll get it.

 

He briefly remembers Patrick, one of his endeavors from when he was just getting back into the dating scene, and how he had almost burnt their fucking house down. He pushes the thought away.

 

He also notices how Stan doesn’t flinch when little Georgie Denbrough comes tumbling down the stairs triumphantly, knowing that he gets first pick of his plate. 

 

Georgie is by far probably the most tame one who occupied the house, but he had age on his side. He got into trouble at school sometimes, but he was a really smart kid. He reminded Richie of when he was younger, always cracking jokes and making quips. Maybe that’s just because Richie taught him everything he knew.

 

“How’s it goin’ squirt?” Richie ruffles Georgie’s hair when the boy sits down next to him. 

 

“Thunsh f’r makin’ burkfest, Richie.” The little boy says through a mouthful of eggs.”Whos’re friend?”

 

Oh, yeah. Richie forgot about introductions. He glances over at Stan, who has a red flush to his cheeks and chest due to the fact that he probably just realized he’s naked in front of strangers, and smiles. 

 

“‘Tis my boyfriend.” Richie throws in a bit of an ambiguous accent that’s not quite British. “I’ve told you about him.”

 

“Ooooooh~ Stanley.” Georgie nods, taking another bite of his food and chomping away excitedly. “Richie’s in looooooooove with you.”

 

Richie’s ears go red. “I never fucking said that Georgie, what the fuck-”

 

“G’morning.” Bill says as he practically tumbles down the stairs, already dressed but still half asleep. He skips right over the eggs and reaches up into one of the cabinets, grabbing a breakfast bar. “Hey Stan, nice to meet you.” He doesn’t even look up as he rips open the packaging.

 

“I made you eggs.” Richie says incredulously. “You know those are for Mike when he’s running late to work.”

 

Mike, he fucking raked in the dough so they could afford to live, did demolition with some sort of construction company. Along with pet sitting here and there, and any other sort of thing he could rake up that made honest cash. Mike, always into morals and shit.

 

“He said I could have one to-”

 

“No I didn’t, asshole.” Mike said somewhat affectionately, coming from the direction of the living room. He always took the other set of stairs due to the fact that the set that led directly to the kitchen had a few loose nails and a board was coming up. 

 

“But babe, I’m running late.” Bill pouts as he’s bracketed by Mike’s arms.

 

Richie groans, jokingly leaning over and covering Georgie’s eyes. “Not in front of the children!” He says theatrically.

 

“Who the fuck livestreams porn at eight in the morning, Bill?” Eddie barges in, swaddled in his bathrobe, and grabs the eggs that Bill didn’t seem to want. “Oh, hey. Nice to see you again Stan.” 

 

“The people who help us pay our bills, you ass.” Bill says, pulling away from Mike for just a moment.

 

Eddie doesn’t make a move to sit at the table, but instead stands at the counter next to Bill and Mike, who went back to making out for some goddamn reason. Richie is starting to wonder if they all do this shit on purpose.

 

“Pleasure’s mine, Eddie.” Stan says, so polite that it sounds somewhat out of place in this atmosphere.  Richie shouldn’t feel so protective over Stan, who can obviously hold his own, but that doesn’t stop the feeling from rising in his chest as he watches him eat the last of his breakfast.

 

“Y’know Stan, now that you’re gonna be around more, what do you think about a no making out in the kitchen rule?” Eddie says before shoveling more eggs into his mouth. He chews and swallows before speaking again. “I think it’d be beneficial for all of us.”

 

“Mhm!” Georgie says, raising his fork.

 

Richie puts his head in his hands but he can already tell that Stan is looking at him with raised eyebrows. When it’s just Richie, he doesn’t think much about the behavior of all the other people living in the house, but now that he has a guest (someone who isn’t just around for one night) it’s apparent that the behavior is embarrassing.

 

Not many things get under Richie’s skin. In fact, he’s practically shameless when it comes to his behavior. For fuck sake, the reason he met Stan is because he started grinding with him on the dancefloor of a club before he even knew if the guy was gay or not. If he wasn’t, it wouldn’t have been a big deal to Richie at all. Thank god he was.

 

Mike turns his attention from Bill onto Eddie, whispering something in the man’s ear before pressing a kiss to his neck. Eddie turns bright red and the sour expression falls from his face.

 

“Children!” Richie says again, slightly more exasperated as he points to Georgie with his fork.

 

“I’m thirteen!” Georgie says defensively, this time with no food in his mouth. He picks up his plate and heads to the sink, which Bill had been blocking only moments before. “Did ya make my lunch?” He says, quickly scanning the counter for a brown paper bag.

 

“Exactly,” Richie mutters, fishing around in his pocket for his wallet. He had been a little...preoccupied this morning so he hadn’t had the time. “Come grab this five, Georgie. Should cover you for today.”

 

As soon as Georgie runs out the door to climb on his bike without so much as saying goodbye, Ben himself is lumbering down the stairs. He doesn’t even mutter a good morning before grabbing a plate and heading out the back door.

 

Richie would normally yell and tell him not to bring the fucking plates out of the house, because it’s not like they could afford anymore. But today he was trying not to be an ass and get everyone on his bad side before the sun was even up. And he didn’t like the impression it gave to Stan.

 

Ben was probably just going over to help Bev with something next door anyway.

 

But, back to Stan. That’s what Richie liked about him. Richie had to  _ work  _ to be good, which in retrospect doesn’t sound that fun. But all of Richie’s past conquest had liked him because he was bad, or rambunctious, or rebellious. Liked him because he was trouble. Not Stan, in fact, he wasn’t exactly sure why Stan liked him.

 

That was all pretty trivial.

 

“Don’t come up to our room.” Bill huffs, finishing the last of his breakfast bar and throwing the wrapper in the trash. “Especially Stan.” He warns before heading up the stairs.

 

“Let me get my work boots first!” Mike says, discarding his half eaten breakfast before bounding up the stairs after him. He must’ve not made it in time because it’s only a few moment later before they can hear Mike shouting. “Hey! Bill! Let me in!”

 

Silence falls over the kitchen now that there’s only three of them left.

 

Eddie had already had the pleasure of meeting Stan, being lucky enough to have the night off on the night Richie met Stan at the club. They hadn’t exactly hit it off because both of them had attitude problems, although Richie found Stan’s much more charming. Besides that, Eddie was always a terrible wingman because all he did was talk shit.

 

“You know,” Eddie says from the counter as he takes a sip of some coffee, which Richie knows tastes like ass. “They placed bets on how long you guys would last once Richie brought you home.”

 

Stan’s jaw dropped a little bit, but automatically regained his composure when Richie started choking on his orange juice. What a conversation starter, really.

 

“So that’s why they weren’t all too friendly, huh babe?” Stan muses, hand rubbing soothing circles into his back. “Tryin’ to run me off.”

 

“What the fuck, Eds.” Eddie’s face contorts at the nickname but he doesn’t look too bothered overall. “What do you mean a bet? My love life is not a game.”

 

“You’ve treated it like one up until this point.” Eddie says, hiking himself up onto one of the stools at the counter and grabbing the paper that was in front of him. He lazily flips through the pages and nods noncommittally. 

 

Eddie did have a point. Richie was never too good at the whole stable relationship thing, and he always managed to fuck it up royally. It was just the Tozier way. The last boyfriend he had lasted about a week, the girlfriend before that last two. Somehow, he managed to be tied down for a month with Stan, which should count for something.

 

“Should we keep a fucking scoreboard then?” Richie mutters, grabbing both Stan and his plate to discard them in the sink.

 

“If it makes you feel any better Chee, I’m not participating.”

 

“Thanks Eds, makes me feel loads better.” He says while turning on the hot water and grabbing the sponge. The last thing he thought he would be doing at twenty one is playing stay-at-home mom, but here he is. He’s not even sure if the other guys, except maybe Mike, know how to do dishes.

 

“I should definitely win friend of the year ‘cause I’m moderating.” Eddie says, flipping another page.

 

Richie catches Stan smiling from across the kitchen, just a small one. There are very few things that make Stan smile, especially those of the humorous variety. Even less in number are the things that make him laugh.

 

“I’m not saying anything, but Bill put twenty bucks on it only last another month. He was the lowest, that’s pretty generous.” Eddie grabs his coffee and newspaper before hopping off the stool. “I’m going to go get dressed.” He says. “Since Bill is working in his room, can I borrow some of your clothes?” The question being directed at Richie, of course.

 

“Yeah, whatever.” Richie huffs, drying off the plates and putting them on the rack that sat next to the sink.

 

“Thanks.” The younger man skitters up the stairs, leaving just Stan and Richie in the kitchen.

 

Stan’s lips are still quirked at the corners as he leans back a bit in his chair. “That went better than expected, babe.”

 

“Oh shut up, you asshole.” Richie settles back in his chair next to Stan, leaning over and resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Richie could feel him try and push away some of the stray black hair that was getting in his face, Stan combing his long fingers through the locks.

 

“You’re one to be talking.” Stan mutters, pressing a kiss to Richie’s temple.

 

Richie isn’t sure what his eyes are focused on. Maybe the horrendous couch that he can see in the living room, or Georgie’s report card on the fridge. Maybe nothing at all. “You think we’ll last that long?”

 

“Huh?” 

 

“A month? You think we’ll last that long?” Richie muses, although no smile tugs at his lips.

 

“Damn right we will.” Stan says, no hint of joking in his voice. Richie had a hard time telling when he was joking or not. He figured it was payback since no one could ever tell when he was being serious. “Bill seems like an ass. No way I’m letting him win.”

 

In that moment, Richie is pretty sure than Stanley Uris may or may not be his soulmate. He doesn’t say it out loud, of course, because that’d make it a little too real for his liking. 

 

“You’re really something,” Richie says, pressing his face into the side of Stan’s neck. He smelled nice too, that was a plus.

 

“We already had sex this morning, Tozier. No way I’m going for a second round.” Stan says, detaching himself from Richie and going to head back up the stairs. Probably to head towards Richie’s room, which he has all to himself, to get dressed. The footsteps get farther and farther away and Richie groans.

 

“You didn’t meet the most important member of the family!” He shouts, looking up at the ceiling. “My dick!”

 

He can hear Mike laughing by the front door.


	2. yeah, paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three weeks later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: brief mentions of alcohol abuse

“Georgie! That raisin toast you like is at the table. Take some fucking juice, will you?” Richie practically shouts as the small boy barrels into him while trying to find some breakfast. The last thing he wants is to spill his own bowl of oatmeal down the front of him.

 

He’s running late this morning, but they all are. Mike is busy shoveling yogurt into his mouth while Bill sits next to him, practically deepthroating a banana. Eddie had commented on how obscene it was before taking a bite of his unfrosted corn flakes. Georgie had just gotten up because Bill let him stay up late on a Sunday night. 

 

The difference between them and Richie is that Richie never runs late.

 

Richie never has anywhere to be, unless Bev hooks him up with a freelancing job. He stays at home, rakes up cash,cooks, manages finances. It’s definitely not his ideal job, playing housewife, but it keeps his brain busy.

 

But today Richie had somewhere to be. He borrowed some slacks from Bill and a nice button up from Mike, so it hung a little loosely off his lithe shoulders. Ben was gracious enough to let him borrow a tie, because all the ones Eddie owned really screamed gay. He had to polish his shoes, or more like Georgie insisted on it, because this was a big deal.

 

There’s a loud rattling from the front door, someone obviously knocking, and Richie looks at all of the guys sitting at the table. Expectantly, almost. None of them even flinched or looked up from their food.

 

“Oh fuck me,” He grumbled, setting down his breakfast.

 

“Already tapped it.” Bill says, looking almost thoughtfully at his banana.

 

“I’m with you there.” Eddie chimes in from behind the newspaper. Mike just grins at the both of them but keeps his mouth shut when he sees the glare that’s fired in his direction from Richie himself. Georgie is trying to hide a giggle behind his hand and Ben being Ben goes red from the whole ordeal being openly discussed at the breakfast table. Bless his heart.

 

“You’re all a bunch of assholes, you know that!” It definitely wasn’t a question, obviously apparent from the fact that the statement was shouted as he stormed towards the front door. “Assholes. Every single one of them.” He gets out under his breath, undoing the four locks that they have on the door.

 

“Trouble in paradise?” An all too familiar voice says before Richie even gets a chance to open the door all the way.

 

Richie sighs in relief just at the sight of him. There’s Stan, standing there in his work uniform. How the hell did he make black jeans and an apron look so good? He really needed to know the secret, even if he wouldn’t be using it to his advantage anytime soon. 

 

“Yeah, paradise.” Richie says, dragging his hands through his unruly hair. Eddie had nagged him on brushing it this morning, arguing with Bill who said it should be left  _ au naturale _ .

 

Stan clears his throat and shuffles his feet a little closer to the door. “Would you mind letting me in? My hands are kind of full.”

 

Now that he brings attention to it, Richie feel like an idiot for not realizing it. In one hand he has a drink carrier that has four large coffees. Another was balanced in the crook of his arm, holding a smaller beverage and one other drink. In the other arm was a pastry box.

 

“Fine.” Richie says, a twinkle in his eye as he steps out of the way. He manages to grab one of the drink carriers, the one balanced precariously, from Stan. It looks like he’s about to object, but Richie shuts him up with a look.

 

“What’d Stan bring us?” Georgie shouts.

 

“Nothing for you, asshat.” Richie returns, even louder if possible. Making sure not to get any of the coffee on his dress shirt, he leans over and presses a wet, open mouthed kiss to Stan’s cheek.

 

“Disgusting.” Stan says, wrinkling his nose. Richie loved catching him in moments like this where he couldn’t wipe the kiss away.

 

“You know you love it.” Richie said mischievously as he headed back to the kitchen. 

 

Stan seems to follow quickly enough with the grace of a fucking gazelle or something. Richie doesn’t think he’s ever seen Stan stumble, even when he’s wasted. That guy was born with like grace in his genes, luckily that trait was enticing enough for Richie to want to get into his jeans. Richie found himself laughing at his own joke.

 

“Small one’s for you, buddy.” Stan says as he slides the drink carrier onto the table, turning around to take the second one with Georgie drink in it from Richie. Georgie only pouts for a moment before taking the cup. It instantly disappears when he realizes that it’s not hot chocolate, but coffee. 

 

Richie had told him hyping up the boy with caffeine was okay when he pulled the same stunt last week, except-

 

“I told you that I was trying to get them to eat real food for breakfast.” Richie dramatically whines as he opens the pastry box, throwing his head back when he sees the assortment of doughnuts.

 

Stan comes up behind him and puts his hands on his waist. “They’re from that new vegan place on 47th,” Stan mutters. “No preservatives and all that shit. The best doughnut money can buy, according to their signs at least.”

 

“Man, if I knew you were fluent in gentrification, I would’ve wifed you up the second I met you.” Richie turns around and presses a kiss on the corner of Stan’s mouth. He’s taller than Stan, just enough to where he has to stoop down a little bit to place a proper kiss. Richie thinks it’s endearing as hell.

 

There’s a cough that comes from behind them, along with the rustling of the newspaper. “Wasn’t it a few weeks ago that we were talking about a no making out in the kitchen rule?” Eddie pipes up.

 

“Don’t think I was there for that one.” Ben says, leaning over the table to grab a coffee. He’s fucking demented, that’s what Richie thinks when he takes a swig of the drink without adding milk or sugar.

 

“Speaking of that,” Richie assumes that Stan’s voice is muffled to the rest of the group, since Richie’s back is to the table and Stan is standing in front of him. “That was three weeks ago. You know what that means?”

 

“Bill’s gonna lose!” Georgie shouts excitedly, and Richie doesn’t have to know that the kid is practically dancing in his seat.

 

“That’s right, Georgie.” Richie says, turning his head in an attempt to look over his shoulder. He can barely see the top of Georgie’s head, but he knows that the kid is chugging that coffee like there is no tomorrow. 

 

“Mhm.” Stan says, although it’s quiet, like a secret. His voice raises when he decides to speak again. “So you can suck it, Big Bill.” There’s a teasing quality in his tone that Richie loves. It contrasts so well with when Stan is deadpanning a joke instead. It’s a tone he often uses when it’s just the two of them. 

 

“It’ll cost you.” Bill mutters.

 

Mike and Georgie do a spit take at the same time, except Georgie sprays coffee everywhere while Mike manages to stop himself from making a mess. Ben pushed out his chair and stomped his way up the steps like a grown toddler. He usually never got more than a few words out when Stan was over anyway.

“You better be cleaning that up, Georgie.” Richie says, turning around to take a look at the kitchen table. 

 

Georgie just pouted, grabbing his backpack off the back of the chair and leaning over on the counter to grab his sack lunch. “If I clean it, I’m gunna be late.”

 

“Okay, fine.” Richie says, pointing an accusing finger at Bill. “Then you can clean it up.” Just as he said it, Georgie was walking out the back door. The whole kitchen shook as he went down the creaky porch steps.

 

“Why do I have to?” Bill groans, petulant like a child. Richie can feel Stan grinning behind him.

 

“Well, for one,” Richie starts, holding up one finger. “It was your dumbass comment that caused him to spit it out. Two,” He puts up another finger. “He’s your brother.”

 

“He’s your brother too!” Bill said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. God, sometimes Richie forgot just how stubborn Big Bill was.

 

“You have like, fifty percent of your DNA in common with that spit.” Richie gently grabs Stan by the shoulders and pushes him off to the side to get to the sink. Grabbing a rag, he threw it in Bill’s direction.

 

He managed to catch it with ease, looking somewhat disgustedly at the wet rag. “That’s not how genetics work.” He huffs.

 

“Totally how it works.” Stan says lazily, pushing his hair back from his face and pressing his back up against the counter. There was something about the way that the light came in the window and shined on his face that made him look-

 

“See!” Richie says, a little too smug. “Mr. Med School agrees.”

 

Bill glared at the pair while he wiped up the mess on the counter. “You gonna stand up for me, Eddie?”

 

The man in question was still reading the paper and munching appreciatively on a doughnut. He moved his elbows in an attempt to get out of Bill’s way. “Sorry babe, not arguing with a future doctor.”

 

Bill throws the towel down with a wet  _ smack  _ and storms up the stairs. Another tantrum. Richie wishes he didn’t have to play the role of babysitter when it came to Bill, but Bill used to do it for him when they were younger.

 

They had been best friends, closer than he’s ever imagined being to anyone ever. Helped him through some rough times that Richie would rather not relive while he’s standing in the perfect domestic scene that is his kitchen...except for the fact that Eddie is still there. Mike had gone up the stairs chasing Bill, obviously in an attempt to get him to calm down. He could hear their muffled shouting from upstairs, or Bill’s at least.  _ He’s supposed to be our boyfriend- _

 

Eddie looked undisturbed and Richie didn’t comment on it. Bill hadn’t always been so temperamental but this month had been a little rough, just a bunch of tiny things stacking on top of each other.

 

“I’m going to go get in my scrubs,” Eddie said, unfolding his legs and standing up to collect his paper and coffee mug. “Thanks for breakfast, Stanley.”

 

“No problem,” Stan says, hiking himself up to sit on the counter. If it was anyone else he would’ve told Stan to get down right that second, but Stan wasn’t just anyone. He got a free pass.

 

His boyfriend makes a grab for his tie and uses it to pull him closer, Richie settling nicely between his legs. In this position, they’re both at the same height for one. It kind of makes Richie’s heart go soft, and he only says kind of because if he was sure? Well, then he would be in some deep shit. It’s not like he’s going off the deep-end. Head over heels in love or whatever.

 

“What’re you all dressed up for?” Stan murmurs, pushing Richie’s glasses up onto his nose and letting his touch linger a little longer than necessary on his cheek. 

 

“Another job interview.” Richie breathes out, pressing his forehead against Stan’s. He knows he won’t get the job, he never gets the job. He always aims to high and he knows it, but Stan doesn’t need to. He can keep this one thing to himself for just a bit longer, he thinks. Stan may never even need to know.

 

“‘nother one?” Stan mumbles, lips ghosting over Richie’s cheekbone. “That’s like the fourth one in the past two week.”

 

“The job market now is just a lil’ crummy.” Richie says a little solemnly, hand going down to fiddle with Stan’s fingers. Stan had long fingers, piano playing hands. Which is why Richie was surprised that Stan had never laid hands on a piano. Or any instrument. Besides Richie’s bass when Richie had forced him to sit in his lap.

 

“Oh. Keep talking dirty to me.” Stan says flatly.

 

Richie can’t stop the grin that splits across his face or the laugh that sends his forehead knocking into Stan’s. He catches Stan smiling too, a small thing, after the wounded look that flashes across his face. He touched his forehead, as if to see if it was still hurting.

 

“You’re an _ idiot _ , Richard.”

 

“Say my name, say my-” Richie sings with a bass heavy voice, obviously going for Destiny’s Child. He squawks when Stan reaches around him and pinches his ass. “Name!” He sounded like a bird, probably like a bird getting mauled by a cat if he wanted to be specific.

 

“Stop proving my point.” Stan grins, face full of some emotion Richie can’t place. Ben says he would describe it as  _ fond,  _ but he didn’t fall for that poetic shit. He’s about to lean forward a place a kiss on Stan’s chin when he catches sight of the oven clock. “Shit, babe. I gotta go talk to Bev before I leave.” Stan frowns for a moment. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll see you for dinner tonight, right?”

 

“Yeah.” Stan nods, the smile returning to his face. “Good luck.”

 

“Good luck to you too.” He says, untangling their limbs. “Have fun with your cappuccino making adventures.”

 

“Dick.” He mutters before pressing a departing kiss that lands on Richie’s upper lip.

 

“I know,” Richie grabbed his coat and slung it over his shoulders. He double checked his pockets for his wallet and his phone, a clucky old thing that worked just well enough to send text messages. “My parents missed out on a prime opportunity when they stuck me with a name like Richie.”

 

Stan doesn’t even crack a smile. “Don’t say that in the interview.”

 

* * *

 

The actually thirty second walk to Bev’s is one he thinks he must take at least five times a day, and if he doesn’t, Ben and the others make up for it. And, it’s not too bad for a thirty second walk. What is bad is the fact that Bev isn’t up yet, so when he tries to jiggle the door handle, three locks get in the way.

 

It’s fucking cold, okay? Illinois weather is a bit temperamental, and even with his coat on and his hat pulled over his curls, the cold still bites at him. He knocks loudly before waiting a few seconds, deciding to put some more force behind it when he repeats the action.

 

“Tricia!” He can hear a voice shout from inside. “Get the damn door.”

 

He ignores the fact that it’s obviously Bev yelling and knocks again. There’a frustrated screech from the other side of the door and Richie knows he’s really fulfilled his purpose.

 

Tricia Blum opens the door, baby on her hip and glare on her face. “It’s Richie!” She said, obviously a bit annoyed by her antics. It was also pretty apparent that she hadn’t been up or planning to answer the door, because she was still standing there in her undergarments.

 

“Peppermint Patty,” He bows in front of her as she stands in the doorway. “Always a pleasure.”

 

“And I’ll kill him if he isn’t out in ten!” She shouts over her shoulder before turning around and heading towards whatever part of the house she had come from. She lowers her voice but doesn’t turn around when she tells Richie that he needs to close the door behind him.

 

He shuffles inside and rubs his shoes on the door mat, because the last thing he needs is for his best friends girlfriend (?) to actually kill him. She’s been living with Bev for a few months and he’s still unsure of their relationship status, but the Blum kid was cute and he got a kick out of babysitting her. 

 

It’s easy to find Bev in her mess of a house, which somehow still seems cozy. All Richie had to do was follow the whir of the sewing machine. It usually led him all the way to the dining room.

 

There she is, leaning over some new sewing project with a furrowed brow and bitten lip, but from concentration. Her red hair is brushed, and much like her quote unquote girlfriend, she’s still only wearing her undergarments. Richie, being her best friend for literally years, already knows that she isn’t one to lounge around in pajamas like a normal human.

 

“Miss Marsh!” He gasps, as if he was scandalized.

 

Her foot lets off the pedal of the machine and she looks up at him, grinning with her perfect smile. “Lookin’ handsome, Rich.”

 

Handsome indeed, he thinks a little bitterly as he shrugs off his jacket and throws it over the back of one of the dining room chairs. “Just another interview, meant to tell you.” And he really did but he was just a little preoccupied with everything at the moment.

 

She sighs a bit, pushing fiery red hair away from her forehead. The sigh isn’t exasperated or disappointed, but a little sad. “You could just do some work with me again Rich, you know it’s not that bad.”

 

“Too risky,” Richie points out, pulling out the chair and flopping down in it. A wrinkle or two in his shirt isn’t going to hurt, and it’s not like he ironed it in the first place. “Can’t leave for more than a day. You know those idiots could never take care of themselves.”

 

Bev pulls up a chair next to him and beckons him to sit up. He complies and she goes to adjust his tie. “You’ve got this all fucked up,” She mutters, untying the whole thing and starting over. “And you know,” It’s obvious she’s not talking to herself this time. “You’ve never really given them the chance to.”

 

“Plenty of times.” He mutters. “They were barely functioning when I got out of the drunk tank.”

 

And no, Richie wasn’t a drunk. He used to drink, used to get a little too rowdy, and often found himself in the Chicago Police Department’s drunk tank. It was just an overnight thing, they always let him out in the morning, but it’d been a wake up call when Bill said that Richie was reminding him of Sharon Denbrough.

 

“I think you just like to tell yourself that.” Bev says. She doesn’t even give him a chance to argue before she begins talking again. “What’re you doing here if you have an interview?”

 

“A pep talk? Words of wisdom?” He suggests.

 

“You asked for those the last three times.”

 

“Okay, fine.” He huffs like a child, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just need some advice. About Stan.”

 

“I thought things had been going good with him,” She pulls back a bit and puts her chin in her hand. Bev had been the first one to know about Stan and got the most frequent updates. Afterall, Bev was his biggest supporter and gave him a good reality check every now and then.

 

“Sooner or later this job hunt isn’t gonna…”

 

“Seem like a job hunt to him anymore?” Bev finishes his sentence for him. She always knew the right thing to say. “You could always just tell him the truth, you know.”

 

“Figured you say that,” Richie grumbled.

 

“Because I’m right.” She says, smug as he’s ever heard her. She usually was. Bev was his most grounded friend after all, the one who usually didn’t have anything to gain from any of Richie’s shit. And when people don’t have shit to gain, they don’t lie. “I’m always gonna keep it real with you, Rich.”

 

“Thanks Bev,” He runs his hand across his face as if it would relieve any of the tension there. “You always know what to-” He’s cut off by the sound of a timer or maybe an alarm and it’s paired with the sound of a crying baby and a cursing Tricia. “I think that may be my cue to leave. Good ole Patty only gave me ten minutes anyway.”

 

He gets up and Bev pushes herself out of her chair too, grabbing his coat for him and helping him put it on. “You know, she would probably let you stay longer if you didn’t call her that.”

 

“What, a heinous bitch?”

 

Bev choked out a laugh at that. “You know what I meant, asshole.” She pushes him towards the doorway and out of the dining room. “Now go get ‘em, tiger.”

 

Richie laughs. “I always do, Miss Marsh!” He gets out in that terrible accent of his.

 

When he closes the front door behind him, the baby still being heard, the smile falls from his face. The cold is biting again and he’s hesitant to go down the front porch steps. There’s no ice, but there’s more disappointment waiting for him once he gets to his destination. He heads for the L train anyway.


	3. i think i do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One week later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of eating disorders, past drug use

Richie’s knee bounces nervously as the L heads towards the South Side. He’s filled with lots of energy and no way to let it out, along with the fact that he just worked a six hour shift and he is tired as hell.

 

Last week, he managed to score that job at Chilis. He washed dishes mostly, occasionally filled in for a host if they could make their shift. When he told everyone at the house of his new job, everyone had started laughed.  _ Welcome to Chilis!  _ Georgie had choked out. Everyone was giggling except Stan, and at first Richie thought it was a respect thing. Turns out Stan had never been on Vine before. 

 

It was better than nothing, and luckily their living situation was temporarily comfortable so he could put some of the money in savings. He only made minimum wage and the manager had been honest and said that with his resume, he probably wasn’t getting paid any more than that anytime soon.

 

He had appreciated the woman’s honesty at least, and she never once sneered like all the other places he had gone. The only downside to the job was how non flexible the hours were, but it was also only his first few days. His fourth one to be exact. 

 

He still hadn’t figured out how all of his schedules lined up with the L, which led to the situation he was facing now. Georgie’s science fair was today after school, and as he looked out the window of the train, he was beginning to wonder if they would even make it on time. 

 

If anyone had told Richie that he was running five minutes late during his highschool years, he would’ve laughed and waited ten more minutes to leave. But he’s older now, and someone had to grow out of that phase. It definitely wasn’t Bill or Ben. Mike and Eddie meant well. Georgie was a mess.

 

Bev and Patty were even supposed to show up, and they were the worst about punctuality. 

 

So really, it was Richie’s job to round up everyone and make sure they were presentable. Mike’s jeans would probably be dirty, Patty would probably being wearing something that vaguely resembled lingerie, and Eddie would probably be bitching about what polo to wear.

 

It stressed him out to know end, mostly because he still had to shower and change. And that was if he had time after getting everyone else ready. He still smelled like overpriced appetizers and fried food.

 

Richie wouldn’t even be going to all this trouble if it didn’t mean so much to Georgie. The kid was a genius, and the science fair was his favorite part of the school year. Not just because he got out of class and got to stand in the gym all day, but because it was something he was genuinely interested in. Science, that’s some shit that could send the kid all the way to college.

 

When the L finally stops, Richie hops out of his seat and is the first one out of the doors. The Chicago weather really took mercy on him today, because it’s not the biting cold it was only last week. It makes breaking out into a run a little less painful after he makes it down the stairs. 

 

He does some quick math in his head. He can make it the three blocks in five minutes if he takes one of the back alleys. That puts him at twelve minutes late, which might mean no shower but at least he’ll be able to drag Bev and Patty from the house next door. Maybe even have time to convince Ben that a tie isn’t necessary.

 

The run is fast, way faster than five minutes in his head. But it doesn’t matter what it feels like, because time is a manmade concept that sadly doesn’t stop for man. Richie is kind of bitter about that. 

 

He practically trips up the stairs and to the front door, only pausing a moment to catch his breath. The door is unlocked and he wastes no time getting it open.

 

“Okay, fuckers! Time to-” Richie practically shouts, trying to make sure his voice can be heard from all corners four corners of the damn earth. He stops in his tracks at the sight of the living room, though. It feels like Christmas, not that very many of his Christmases had been enjoyable, but still.

 

There, sitting in a row on the couch, is Bill, Mike, and Eddie. Bill has his arms crossed and is pouting, which is pretty much his default setting so Richie isn’t surprised. What he is shocked about it the fact that he’s wearing a flannel that’s not ratty paired with a pair of jeans that aren’t ripped. Mike is next to him, head on Eddie’s shoulder, wearing clean jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Eddie has his legs slung over Mike’s, polished dress shoes sparkling under the living room light. His khakis and purple polo aren’t even rumpled, and he’s not picking away at lint that isn’t there.

 

“We’re not here on our own volition, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Ben says from his place on the recliner. He isn’t wearing a tie, but a nice shirt with a sweater vest thrown over it and some black pants. He’s got Daniel, Patty’s kid, sitting on his lap. He’s wearing a onesie, so Richie just might cry.

 

“You’re all ready.” Richie says and it’s like he’s seeing all Seven Wonders of the World at once.

 

“Yeah,” Bill huffs. 

 

“Bill’s just mad because-” Eddie starts.

 

“I made him change.” And there’s Stan, traipsing down the steps like he just didn’t complete some amazing feat. Like he isn’t only two miracles away from becoming a saint. Maybe a miracle and a half, because the turtleneck he was wearing kind of made Richie’s heart swoop.

 

While what he had accomplished was amazing, Richie still had one thing missing from this whole equation. “Well,” He sighed, sounding way less stressed than he had only moments before. “I gotta go get Tricia and Bev from next do-”

 

Stan shakes his head, curls flying everywhere, effectively cutting him off. “They’re making out in the kitchen.”

 

Now that Stan mentioned it, Richie could see the display by looking through the dining room. Bev’s legs dangling from the kitchen counter, high heels tapping against the cabinets and Patty standing between her legs. Wearing a pantsuit. A fucking pantsuit. 

 

“Did you-”

 

“Tell them not to have sex on the table? Yeah, definitely.” He says, as if that’s a normal thing someone would have to tell their neighbors. He doesn’t even looked phased when it comes out of his mouth.

 

“Oh my god,” Richie says, all the tension released from his shoulders. He grabs Stan and pulls him in for a tight hug. “I could kiss you right now. You’re a saint.”

 

“I know.” Stan says into his neck, encircling Richie’s waist with his arms. “Knew you’d be later than you wanted.”

 

There’s probably, no definitely, some tears that are prickling up behind Richie’s eyes. Plenty of people have done nice things for him before. Bev made him a shirt for his birthday last year, Mike went grocery shopping for him when Richie had all those interviews, Ben fixed the television when it went out last month. Those things were all nice. 

 

But this was something completely different. Nothing was broken, this wasn’t some material item, and it wasn’t just because Richie had asked him to do something. Stan had gone out of his way to come over and make sure everyone was ready. Because he knew that was something Richie would worry about. He knew that it was something Richie wouldn’t be able to do.

 

There’s a tight feeling in Richie’s chest that he can’t explain, but it makes him want to never let Stan go. And he doesn’t. And Stan doesn’t make a move to get away either. There’s just a moment where it’s them, even though everyone is sitting right there in the living room.

 

“I think I love you.” Richie mumbles into Stan’s hair. He smells like ivory soap, coffee, and a little bit of mint. Like home, he thinks idly.

 

The world seems to stop for a moment, even though he knows Stan is the only one that’s heard him. His boyfriend tenses for a moment, grips Richie a little tighter, pushes his face farther into the crook of Richie’s neck. It seems like an eternity.  _ Say something _ , Richie wants to scream.

 

It doesn’t feel like a mistake, not this time. There are lots of times when Richie has said I love you way too fast, and he knows it now because he gets a feeling. Doubt. But Richie loves nothing more than the fucking adrenaline of saying those three words, and he doesn’t feel them this time. Maybe because it’s real. Maybe it’s because he knows he means it.

 

“Can you two lovebirds break it up?” Eddie says lazily, half of his body hanging over the arm of the couch. “You need to shower.”

 

The world decides to go into motion again and Richie is untangling himself from Stan, just pulling back a bit. His muscles were still tense, Richie can feel it when he grabs his hand. “He’s right, y’know.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” It’s mumbled and a little unclear, and in Richie’s mind he thinks it’s a reply to his big confession. Oh god, how much money he would pay to see Stan pull a fucking Han Solo and say something like that. Because it’s something he would totally do. 

 

“Yeah,” Richie switches places with Stan, bring him down to the ground as he steps onto the first step. “Be down in a bit.”

 

He resists the urge to put his damn fist through the wall once he makes it up to the hallway. Even more when he gets to the bathroom, knowing tile would hurt a thousand times worse. Thinks about it for a split second when he looks at the mirror, knowing that’d do some severe damage to his knuckles.

 

Richie manages to climb in the shower without punching anything.

 

Second miracle of the day.

 

* * *

 

After any of them does anything real spectacular, they have a bonfire. It’s a tradition. They had one last week when Richie got his job. They had one two months ago when Eddie got promoted. Another one when Ben had graduated from college.

 

Richie is starting to think it’s a stupid tradition as he sits in his lawn chair, hat pulled tight over his head.

 

After Georgie had been awarded his first place ribbon for building a generator, which like, how did the kid even manage to do that, it was like Chicago decided it was time for a cold front. Or maybe Richie’s life was just a whole lot of shit. 

 

The fire in front of him had died down significantly, everyone heading inside besides Bev, Stan and him. It was past Georgie’s bedtime, Bill hadn’t gotten in his fucking nap apparently, and Mike had to get an early start tomorrow. Tricia was being a bitch so Bev sent her home. And Ben had a hard time being around Patty at all.

 

So, yeah. Just Bev, Stan, and him.

 

He didn’t really have a chance to ask Beverly for advice. She would’ve known what to do, but Richie knows that she is both figuratively and literally sitting in the dark. She has no idea what Richie had said only a few hours prior, and she couldn’t see the look on his face either.

 

Maybe he would have had time if Stan hadn’t stuck to his side like glue throughout the whole night.  As they had weaved through all the mediocre projects, Stan had held his hand the whole time. He tugged Richie along as he whispered about how some of the presentations were incredibly unorganized. He didn’t let Richie out of his sight for more than two minutes. 

 

Maybe this was how it ended. Richie really couldn’t blame him. Stan put up with a lot of shit, not only from him, but from his whole family too. For some reason, Bill always felt the need to be a stubborn shit when he was around. Eddie was just downright vulgar. Ben was always leaving the second Stan walked in the door.

 

So when Stan goes to open his mouth, he half expects him to mention breaking up, or even worse. Telling Bev they need to talk alone. But he doesn’t.

 

The crickets chirp around them and silence seems too loud. Luckily Bev manages to break it. 

 

“It’s getting cold.” She picked herself up off the ground and wiped at her pants. “And late. Tricia will be wondering where I am.”

 

“Later Bev,” Stan says, not looking up from the fire. His eyes had been focused there for a while, not looking at either of them. Richie wondered how dry his eyes were, or how blind he’d be by the morning, but he didn’t make any comments about it. 

 

Richie gives her a mock salute before she’s gone, disappearing into the night.

 

Just Stan and Richie.

 

He thinks back to earlier, when Mike had first started up the fire. Georgie was running around in circles, trying to get ahold of Ben’s pocket knife. Eddie was trying to read the paper with a book lamp in the fucking dark. Bill was laying down languidly in the damp grass, like a fucking cat. Stan had looked beautiful, light catching his eyes just right as he pulled at the sleeves of his sweater.

 

Richie had to get out of this before it got any worse. He had to break up with Stan before Stan decided to break up with him. It’d be a lot less humiliating that way and it’d save him trouble.

 

“Stan, about earlier-”

 

“I love you too.” Stan spits out before Richie can get any farther in his sentence.

 

Richie tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket, hiding how they’re fidgeting. Or shaking. He knows it’s a little bit of both, even if he doesn’t want to admit that. Much like how he didn’t want to admit he was in love in the first place. “What did you say?” He chokes out. 

 

“I’m pretty sure you heard me.”

 

There’s nothing malicious in Stan’s tone, but when Richie tries to look at him, he’s staring down at his lap. His fingers are tracing a pattern into his leg that looks a little too calculated to be soothing. 

 

There’s a lot of things going through Richie’s head at the moment, none of them are soothing either. Hours ago he was pretty sure that he wanted Stan to say it back, had been disappointed when he didn’t say anything. Now he was here, sitting in the backyard in the cold, and Stan had said it.

Stan had said it and God, Stan looked really pretty, which isn’t a word he would usually describe to anyone he was dating. Usually it’s words like hot, among other things. Not Stan. Well, Stan was hot and pretty and Richie may have even gone to the extent to call him beautiful if he was feeling like a real sap. Or think about how the light emitting from the firepit casted a glow on his cheek bones. Or the way it seemed to catch his curls just right. 

 

“I mean I did,” He finally gets out after a pause. “I heard you, but I just don’t think-” Richie bites at his lip and thinks it over for a minute. “I just don’t think you know enough about me to say that.”

 

“You said it to me.” Stan pointed out, and man, he was really good at keeping his voice level. Richie can barely see the way that his boyfriend’s brow furrows, but he’s always been pretty observant. “If you don’t think I know enough, then tell me what I need to know.” 

 

“Like what?” Richie smiles a bit, but it’s not because he finds the whole situation funny. 

 

Stan seems to think about this for a second. Richie’s hoping it’ll be something like his favorite color (which Stan knows is green) or his mother’s name (which Stan knows is Maggie). Maybe something along the name of his first pet (Stan knows it was a stupid dog named Oatmeal) or his favorite soda (which was obviously Dr. Pepper even if the person guessing wasn’t his boyfriend). 

 

All of those things, Richie knows, really don’t matter at all.

 

“Something important. Like…” Stan seems to be stuck, just like Richie was moments ago. “What if I share something first?”

 

Richie is a fan of that idea, mostly because this is a serious situation. That’s not something he really thrives in unless he’s taking care of someone. A conversation? Not exactly a place where he is meant to be at any given moment. It’s a lot of pressure, being able to map out a conversation. Know what to say and when to say it. Stan’s idea, going first and all, will give him a pretty good idea of where to start, will give Richie an idea of what he’s dealing with.

 

So he nods.

 

Stan looks at him thoughtfully for a moment and stops tracing the pattern on his leg.  “Okay,” He runs his hands across his pants as if to smooth out the fabric. Richie thinks he could cut the tension with a knife, even though he knows Stan couldn’t get rid of him that easily, no matter what the thing was. “Did you know,” He leans back out in his seat a bit, as if he was actually thinking about whether or not he should say it. 

 

“Come on, spit it out.” Richie says lightly, trying to take away from the serious of the conversation. Stan shoots him a look.

 

“Did you know that I grew up Jewish?” Stan said. His posture was rigid at first, but after he let out a breath he seemed to deflate. “No, actually don’t answer that. I know you didn’t, you’re not very observant.” Richie puts a hand over his chest in mock hurt. “Yeah,” Stan rolls his eyes. “I had a bar mitzvah and everything. My dad was a rabbi. Big deal.”

 

“And I didn’t know this because?” Richie’s voice trails off. 

 

“When I got accepted to that six year program at UMKC, I kind of pushed it away.” Richie knew about the six year program. Stan had apparently quit after three years of nonstop school, only getting a month off of school a year. He hadn’t been too worried about it, Stan had explained, because his credits would transfer just fine. “The whole thing was really overbearing, and I thought I liked it. But sometime around graduation I realized it was like,” He wrinkles his nose. “Some source of self hatred, I guess.”

 

“I love you enough for the both of us,” Richie jokes, reaching out his foot to nudge Stan’s own. Stan looks up to him, peculiarly at first, before a grin breaks out on his face.

 

“Don’t think you’re getting off, Tozier-”

 

“Oh, I’ll get off alright.” He interrupts.

 

Stan doesn’t even smile at that one, just raises an eyebrow. “C’mon, fess up.”

 

Richie thinks about it for a second. He likes to think that he’s a pretty open book. Stan knows most things about his childhood, that are his to tell anyway. He omitted the part about Bill’s fucked up parents or Eddie’s delusional mom or Mike’s flighty ones. He’s told Stan about how he would always hop the fences with Bill, never told him why. But he did mention going to Ben’s afterwards to eat, leaving out the part where Ben was forced to eat twice as much as all of them thanks to his fucked up aunt.

 

Richie digs around in his brain again. He figures hopping fences is a good place to start mentally at least. Hopping fences, running from cops occasionally. One time they beat up a sex offender who lived down the street, a real creepy guy. They didn’t get caught for that one, and back when him and Tricia got along, she got two of her meat-for-brains buddies to dig a grave in his front yard.

 

“I was convicted of a felony,” The words tumble out faster than he expected. He puts  his head in his hands. “Oh, fuck.”

 

There’s some shuffling and Richie thought that maybe Stan was getting up to leave. Then there’s a knee bumping into his and he looks up. Stan had moved his lawn chair closer to Richie’s and had set a hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles into his back. 

 

“You’re not in prison, so I assume it wasn’t murder.” Stan said, and it shouldn’t have been comforting.

 

“Nah, I charmed the judge. Who else would expect to get away with a Class A?” Richie pushed Stan’s hand off his shoulder with a laugh.

 

Stan didn’t seem to like his joke.

 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I would think if you wanted things to get serious you would.”

 

It’s not manipulative, like Richie thought it would be. It’s honest. Because a relationship can’t be serious without honesty. Maybe that’s what Richie was missing in his past ones. 

 

“It was Class E, you know.” Richie rubs at his nose. Not A, not murder. “Possession, and you know, that’s it. Not anything too fucking wild. Still can’t leave the state, and I really shouldn’t be drinking or fighting either. Used to have to go to NA.” Richie realizes exactly how that sounds the moment it leaves his mouth. “But I’m not an addict, I only used once or twice.” 

 

Stan is silent for a moment, and Richie fears there’s some kind of judgement there. Judgement because he started a damn bar fight with narcotics on his person. Because no matter how fucking smart Richie was in highschool or how smart  he was now, there was a gap year when he was around twenty. Full on idiot Richie came out to play.

 

‘I love you.” Stan said again, grabbing at Richie’s hand. Their fingers locked together and Richie looked at them, as if he didn’t believe it. When he looks up at Stan he thinks his expression is unreadable, but then he realizes it’s understand. He squeezes Stan’s hand.

 

“Love you too.”

 

He guesses things are getting serious.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know things seem happy now but don't get too excited


	4. where's he at?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: homophobic slurs, mild violence
> 
> feel free to message me about any inconsistencies you find because i spent three weeks writing this (mostly because i was procrastinating) and i may have not caught all of them

“You know,” Richie says somewhat jokingly. “When Eddie said that Bill bet the shortest amount of time, I didn’t know that meant the others bet five and six weeks.”

 

“Are we really talking about this right now, Richie?” Amusement is creeping into Stan’s voice, as it so often does when they’re laying down next to each other. They’re half covered by the blanket and Stan’s legs are tangled with his. His forehead is pressed to the column of Richie’s throat, curls tickling Richie’s chin.

 

Richie hums in affirmation, tracing light circles on Stan’s back. It’s another one of their domestic moments, which he cherishes more than anything else.

 

A lazy day. Today was one of Richie’s first lazy days in a while. It’s a rarity for the both of them. Richie and Stan both had the day off, and some people might have taken this opportunity to go on a date or do something together. Instead, Stan had suggested just staying in bed, maybe ordering pizza for dinner, which Stan even offered to pay for.

 

It  might be the best Thursday of Richie’s life.

 

This is how he imagines his life in the future. Laying in bed at two in the afternoon with someone he loves, curled up under the blankets, not worrying about a thing. He can hear traffic, but there’s nothing too loud out on the streets and he feels relaxed.   

 

Even then, it’s hard not to keep tabs on everybody. That’s all Richie really knows how to do, and he’s been doing it for years. Georgie is at school, or should be because he’s a good kid and is allowed to walk there all by himself. Ben is out buying groceries. Bill and Eddie have been lounging in the room down the hall. Mike had been with them a few hours earlier but was working out in the small garden he liked to keep out back.

 

It’s easier than expected for him to shake the thought out of his head. So easy he’s almost concerned. He knows it’s kind of his role, his job, to take care of them. But he thinks maybe they can all let him have this one thing. Just this once. So he easily oves on to different thought as he buries his face in Stan’s hair. 

 

Stan is rolling his eyes at him, but he could care less about what his boyfriend thinks of his silly antics at the moment. Everything is perfect.

 

“We should shower.” Stan murmurs, grimacing as he shifts around in his spot on the bed. 

 

Richie lets out a whine and grabs his arm, pulling him back into his embrace. “No,” It’s a low and long rumble in his chest. “Please, no. Stan. Light of my life.” His whine turned into more of a protest as he continued talking. 

 

Stan doesn’t look amused when he throws a look at Richie with a quirked eyebrow. “Fire of your loins?”

 

He laughs and drags Stan even closer, which his boyfriend does not seem too happy about. “Okay, Lana del Rey, when are you gonna start calling me daddy?”

 

“I was referring to Lolita, y’know. Trashy literature. Jackass.” Stan says, lips brushing against the tattooed bird on Richie’s chest. It had just been a coincidence that one of Stan’s fixations happened to be birds, and it had also been a coincidence that Stan had a special place right where the bird was tattooed. Richie’s heart.

 

God, Richie was turning into such a sap. How did Mike, Bill, and Eddie manage to not be so lovesick?

 

He’d been with Stan for almost three months and he felt that this was the hardest he had ever fallen in love. Bev had told him that he looked like he was going to propose at any second, but even if it was true, he wouldn’t. He’s not stupid to jump in that fast. It didn’t change the fact that he loved Stanley Uris more than he had probably loved anyone before. It choked him up sometimes.

 

Richie looks at him with a fond expression, even if the next thing out of his mouth wasn’t sappy. “Love when you-”

 

Stan cuts him off with a look, but there’s mischievous glint in your eye. “Talk dirty to you? Thought that was your thing, trashmouth.”

 

Richie groans again, in annoyance of course, and mouths along Stan’s jaw. “Shoulda never told you about that.” He says, mouth right next to Stan’s ear. He presses his mouth there, digs his teeth in a little. He can hear how Stan’s breath hitches.

 

He had originally told Stan about his nickname from his earlier years as a joke, just another fun fact about Richard Tozier. He didn’t realize that Stan would use it at his leisure and tease him mercilessly. Even if says he wishes he never told Stan, it’s not true. Stan had this odd sense of humor that could just make about anything funny, something that Richie had been trying to accomplish for years. And that’s the thing about Stan. He didn’t even have to try.

 

“Really?” Stan’s stoic features aren’t so stoic anymore as he lays pliantly next to Richie. “I think it’s fitting.” Another hitch in his breath. Richie could feel how his chest pushed forward, pressing closer to him. Stan was worked up easily, even if he would never admit it. Richie knew and that’s all that mattered. 

 

“We could totally-”

 

“No, I’m spent. We are not, I repeat,” Stan straightens himself out a bit, trying to gain control of the situation again. He likes to do that, Richie notices, with just about everything. Richie kind of finds it cute. “Doing it again. I’m _ tired _ .”

Richie sighs in defeat, because yeah, Stan is totally right. He’s always right. Damn him, for that was his fatal flaw. And it was also the only flaw this guy had, Richie was pretty sure. “Fine, but I’m still not showering.” He says smugly. “I’ll wear you down.”

 

Stan scoffed. “As if, Toz-”

 

_ Crash. _

 

“Ah, shit.” Richie said, flopping back to his prone position among his pillows. The crash hadn’t been particularly out of the ordinary, especially in this house, but it did mean a mess. A mess that everyone else would pretend they didn’t know how to clean up.

 

Stan leans over him, pressing a kiss to his chin. Their legs are overlapping, and Stan’s unimaginably long fingers have found their way to Richie’s hair. Piano playing, Stan had said, those fingers were good for piano playing. Richie tries to not let himself get distracted with what else they could be good for.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Stan whispers under his breath as he twirls his finger around one of the dark curls. “I’ll get it later.”

 

Richie sighs, content. “Did I mention,” He begins lazily. “That you may just be the best thing that’s ever happened to me?”

 

Stan just blinks at him.

 

“I’m serious.” Richie pouts, jutting out his bottom lip.

 

He kisses the look right off Richie’s face, fingers still tapping lightly at the nape of his neck. “I know.” Richie goes to open his mouth and declare that he had actually been Han Solo’d in his own damn home, but he’s interrupted yet again.

 

“Richie!” It’s the shrill voice of Eddie Kaspbrak that makes its way to Richie’s ears from through the door. He hadn’t really thought much of the pounding footsteps up the staircase, since everyone always sounded like elephants when going through the house. “Richie! Get the fuck out here!”

 

He groaned, seeing if he could just wait him out.

 

_ Bang bang bang. _

 

Stan looks at him expectantly when Eddie bangs on the door. Richie closes his eyes and pretends he can’t see it. “I think it might be important.”

 

“Richie! I swear to god if you don’t help us get this crazy bitch out of the house I’ll skin you!”

 

Stan looks a little shocked by the threat, eyebrows raising towards his hairline. He’d been spared from most of Eddie’s moments, the drama queen usually going off about something or having an episode (Ben referred to them as his ‘soaps’) every week or two. This obviously wasn’t one of those.

 

“Shut the fuck up!” Richie rolls out of bed and throws a sweatshirt on, along with a pair of boxers. He usually wouldn’t bother with the sweatshirt but Stan had left an impressive trail of hickies down his chest. And he didn’t even really know who was at the door. It was probably one of his ex-girlfriends. Maybe someone Bill made a bad deal with? A mom from Georgie’s school? Really, any of that shit was possible with how fucked up their block was. “I’m coming!”

 

“A little faster, please!” 

 

“Oh, you’re usually asking for it harder!” Richie shouts, just to spite him. He can practically imagine Eddie’s whole face going red, brown eyes blazing. He lowers his voice and looks over his shoulder. “You comin’?”

 

Stan blinks at him again, big hazel eyes looking confused. God, Richie wanted to kiss the stupid look off his face.

 

“You practically live here,” Richie shrugs as he runs his hands through his unmanageable curls. “If there’s gonna be a show, you’re invited. Nothing like Bill’s, and you don’t even have to pay.”

 

A grin takes up Stan’s whole face, a genuine one that reaches his eyes. Richie practically goes fond knowing that he’s the one that put it there, even more fond when Stan’s tumbling out of bed after him and throwing on his robe. A  _ robe.  _ Fucking endearing is what that shit was. He watches as his boyfriend ties it tightly around his waist and tuck his hands in the pockets.

 

“Are you seriously in here fucking flirting?” Eddie yelps, now standing in the open doorway. “Do you not understand that that crazy bitch is downstairs with a fucking hammer? A hammer!”

 

Richie just looks at him dumbly, watching as Eddie’s hands fly around frantically. It’s not until he hears the word hammer that he gets a bit concerned. “What crazy bitch? And why does she having a fucking hammer?”

 

“Tricia!” Eddie says it as if it’s obvious. Ah, fuck. “She’s looking for Ben.”

 

“Why the fuck-” Realization dawns upon Richie’s face. “Is Bev with her? Did you tell her he’s not here?”

 

“Standing on the porch. C’mon.” Eddie said, running down the hallway towards the staircase that led towards the living room. Richie follows him and he assumes that Stan is trailing behind as he watches Eddie practically prance down the fucking stairs. “And I did! She doesn’t fucking believe me.”

 

Luckily, the man lowered his damn voice before saying it, because the scene before him was a sight. 

 

The door was wide open, and Richie could feel the cold hitting his bare legs. Bev was standing in the doorway, no baby in tow. Richie could presume he was down for a nap or something of a similar sort. Mike was standing defensively in the pathway to the kitchen, watching as Bill stood with his arms out and trying to talk some sense into their crazy neighbor.

 

Richie stops at the stoop and feels Stan bump into his back, a little surprised by the abrupt halt. 

 

Tricia is standing in the middle of their living room, hammer in hand. She’s in a slip of some sort with a hammer in her hand just like Eddie had reported. Bev is looking a little guilty. Richie is pretty sure that he could cut the tension of the room

 

“What the hell are you doing here?” It’s said mostly out of surprise than wanting an actual answer, because the last thing he wants to do is gain the attention of Tricia when she’s gone off the rails.

 

Everything seems to snap at that moment like a rubber band.

 

Mike is dragging Bill away from the center of the living room as Bill’s trying to throw his arms around. There’s a few words that he catches flying from his best friend’s mouth, mostly  _ bitch _ along with a few more explicit choices. Mike doesn’t seemed phased by his boyfriend’s choice language as he hauls him away, even though he struggles a bit.

 

Bev begins babbling some sort of apology that Richie really can’t make out and Eddie is trying to get out some sort of  _ I told you so.  _

 

“Where’s Hanscom?” Patty’s voice manages to cut through all the other chaos going on in the room. There’s some kind of glint in her eye that is somewhat murderous and her knuckles are white from gripping her weapon of choice. “Where is he at? Tell me or I swear to God I’ll bash more than his brains in!”

 

Richie is good at making snap decisions, he likes to think. The last thing he wants is the cops here because Patricia went off the damn wall, so that wasn’t an option.

 

“Okay! Everyone shut the fuck up!” Silence falls among all of them and Richie thinks it may just be a miracle that it actually worked. “Why do you wanna see Ben? He’s not here right now, but we could probably work out a time to meet up,” He pauses for a moment. “That doesn’t involve a hammer.”

 

His hands are out in a precautionary manner, handling the situation like it’s some untamed and wild beast. He guesses that’s how he’d describe Tricia if he ever had to.

 

“I told him to stop coming around, and Bev told him to stop coming around.” There’s always something more intimidating about a person when they manage to get their hands on a hammer.

 

Ben did spend a lot of time next door, but Ben and Bev have also been close. Ever since Ben asked to move in with them once he could start living off campus. The University of Chicago was pricey and he was trying to cut down on costs, and Bill knew him from the bar. It just had worked out that way, that when Ben and Bev met, they clicked.

 

“Have you ever thought.” His voice is still slow, but the volume is rising. “That this is a problem between you and Bev? Like a trust thing?” Eddie shoots him a look that signals he should probably keep his mouth shut.

 

Tricia looks at him incredulously. “A trust thing? You’re one to talk! You’re fucking your live-in babysitter.”

 

“He’s not babysitter!” Richie can feel his hands tightening into fists. “He’s my boyfriend, you bitch! And there’s no fucking mistrust between either of us.” He can feel Stan’s hand on his side, fingers threading through the sweater as if to hold him in place.

 

“Then maybe you can explain the black car with the tinted windows?” She said, swinging the hammer around in her hands as if it was some mindless toys. “The ones that are always there when you’re at work? They’ve got tinted in windows.”

 

Richie stiffens at that, racking his brain for any mentions of some black car. Stan definitely hadn’t told him, but neither had anyone else. Bill was always home, but he’s pretty oblivious and always left through the black door.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Tricia pushes at her curly brown hair, getting it out of her face. There’s something muttered under her breath. Something about Richie’s  _ fairy boyfriend.  _

 

“Shut up, Tricia.” It’s Mike speaking this time, butting in at just the right time. He’s still got an arm slung around Bill, whose face is buried in Mike’s chest. “Just shut the fuck up and go home.”

 

“Excuse me?” Richie said, stepping down one step. He still had three more to go before he reached the bottom. “Would you wanna say that again?” Stan seems to be tugging him back in an attempt to stop getting closer., as if that had ever stopped him before.

 

Tricia straightens out a bit and looks at him, instituting a challenge. “I said, for a twink you managed to land a fairy boyfriend.”

 

It’s not a decision he makes rationally, grabbing the baseball bat off it’s place on the wall. He did not come downstairs with the intent to fight Tricia. He didn’t come downstairs to fight anyone. Instead, it’s his impulsiveness that gets him. The baseball bat is in his hand before he knows it, and he’s lunging down the last few steps, lunging towards Tricia.

 

There’s more than Richie’s brain can comprehend that happens in those few seconds. -Stan is shouting out a  _ no,  _ all he sees is red, he can register Tricia howling, and Mike’s calling out after-

 

_ Whack. _

 

He doesn’t get the satisfying sight of seeing Tricia fall over from the impact of the bat. Instead, it’s Bill on the ground holding his shoulder at the woman’s feet. His face is contorted in pain and his teeth are digging into his lip.

 

“Bill?” He says dumbly, bat still gripped in hand. 

 

Tricia dropped to her knees, putting a hand on Bill’s forehead. Bev had rushed inside and Mike practically slid on the carpet, taking Bill’s route from a few seconds ago and hopping over the loveseat.

 

“I’m calling the fucking police!” Tricia yells, looking up from Bill. Bev is pushing her back, shuffling her across the carpet so she can get a closer look at Bill’s shoulder.

 

“Don’t call-”

 

“I’ll get my med kit!” Eddie is hollering over the commotion. “Don’t move him, something might be broken.”

 

“Bill?” He says again, voice cracking on the single syllable. He goes to kneel down on the floor, sit next to his best friend since the beginning of time, but there’s a hand on his shoulder. He’s being pulled into someone’s tight grip.

 

There’s a familiar smell of clean laundry, a little bit of pine, and spring. Stan. The man’s arms wrap around Richie and pull him in close, ignoring the fact that Richie is obviously trying to see if Bill is okay. Stan ignores the tugging, ignores his slight thrashing, until he relaxes into the touch and cries.

 

“We should go upstairs.” Stan says into his temple, the ghost of his lips moving against his forehead. 

 

Richie takes a look at his friends, his family, all huddled on the ground and wonders what exactly he did to end up in this position. Stan’s hand is on his chin, making Richie turn his head and look down a bit into his boyfriend’s eyes. The pad of Stan’s thumb is pretty into his lip, firm and reassuring.

 

“They’ll figure it out.” Stan whispers to him, like it’s a secret. “We should go upstairs.”

 

Stan, afterall, is probably right. None of them probably want him anywhere Bill right now, and no matter how much he wants to help, there’s probably no way that he can. Eddie will check to see if the bone is broken, Mike will hold Bill’s hand, Bev will wipe his tears, Tricia will bitch. There’s no room for Richie in this equation, no role for him to fill.

 

“Richie,” Stan says cautiously, noticing his silence. “Babe, c’mon.”

 

He can feel his face twitch at the absurdity of the whole situation. Stan just got dragged by Tricia Blum and he wasn’t even mad. He was calm, like it had no power over him at all. Like he had his emotions in check.

 

It’s odd how the scales were never tipped with them, how they balanced each other out. Richie and his trashmouth paired with Stan’s dry humor. Richie with his raging emotions and impulsivity, while Stan had his emotions in check and his moves calculated.

 

“Why the fuck did he do that?” Richie mumbles as Stan pries the bat from his grip and sets it gently on the ground.

 

An arm is around his shoulder after that, leading him up the stairs so he can go back to his bedroom. “That’s something you’ll have to ask him yourself, honey.” Stan had never called him that before. He leans into Stan’s touch as they make it to the hallway.

 

The pictures on the wall seem to pass by so slowly as they walk. Georgie at last years science fair, Bev and Richie outside the bar smoking. Eddie earning his nursing certification. Mike and Ben standing in front of the above ground pool that they spent all day putting up. An older picture of Bill and Richie grinning with their GED certificates.

 

He hit Bill with a fucking bat.

 

Stan butts open the door with the shoulder that’s not supporting Richie, sitting his boyfriend down on the bed. He tapped on Richie’s cheek with two fingers. “Arms up.” He said, as if he was talking to a child. He complies, lifting his arms up. Stan’s nimble fingers grab the edge of his sweatshirt and lift up. “C’mon,” Stan encourages. “Get in bed.”

 

“He’s never going to want to talk to me again.” Richie says plaintively, like he had stolen one of Bill’s toys off the playground. He climbs under the covers and Stan pulls the blanket up to his chin, deciding to sit on the edge of the bed rather than climb under the covers himself.

 

“I don’t think that’s true.” Stan says stoically, pushing the black hair out of Richie’ face. “Just let it all die down.”

 

“Nothing dies down around here.” He mumbles, rolling to face away from his boyfriend. 

 

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit.” Stan mutters.

 

“What’s Georgie gonna say?” Richie wonders outloud. “I’m no fucking better than his dad now.”  _ What if Bill and him want to leave? What if they kick me out? What if, what if, what if. _

 

“Georgie thinks you’re like the eighth wonder of the world, babe.” Stan’s thumb is rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder, like that’s the only way Stan has ever calmed someone down. “Just give it time.”

 

“Just give it time.” Richie parrots before closing his eyes.


	5. we've got a problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four days later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a shorter chapter, but thing will be back to normal by chapter seven! ( i have a surprise for chapter six i'm excited). hopefully i can get updates out sooner since i just got over my writer's block.

“What did Tricia mean?”

 

Richie had been waiting for the right time to ask, and now seemed like a better time than any. His head was in Stan’s lap and they were sitting on the back porch. Stan had a cigarette pressed between his teeth, just about to light it when Richie decided to open his mouth.

 

“Thought we weren’t gonna look to far into the meaning of homophobic remarks.” He said with the lighter midway to his mouth.

 

Richie shifts around in his spot, light jacket snagging on the splintering wood below him. “You know that’s not what I meant.” He said, fumbling for Stan’s pack of cigarettes. Camel Blues. Disgusting, but they’d have to do.

 

Stan just hums and lights the cigarette between his boyfriend’s lips when Richie tilts his head back.

 

Richie could push it, could pester more. This is his first time trying to get any answers out of Stan afterall. If there’s one thing that he knows, it’s that Stan doesn’t share unless he absolutely wants to. He absolutely hates to be poked and prodded at. He wants everything to be on his own terms. It’s something Richie’s discovered over the past few months, picking up on his habits and falling into familiarity.

 

“This probably isn’t the thing you want to be talking about.” Stan says dubiously, taking a long drag.

 

Richie pulls his own cigarette out of his mouth and wipes at his nose with his thumb.  “Why do ya say that?” He mumbles, other hand going to rake through his own hair as if Stan’s free hand wasn’t already resting there. 

 

“Bill’s still working on forgiving you.” Stan was too nice to say that Bill was still angry. It was always that Bill was working towards some sort of forgiveness. “Everyone is. You know what we should talk about?” Richie looks up at him with raised brows. “Thanksgiving. That’s coming up, yeah?”

 

It’s hard to think about anything except for the fact that Eddie has got Bill’s arm up in a sling for no fucking reason. Or that even Ben is upset with him. Ben, who wasn’t even there. He hasn’t walked the small path to Bev’s house since the incident either, and Patty flipped off from her window on his way to work the other day.

 

“Thanksgiving.” He says a little hollowly. “Yeah, we could talk about that.”

 

Stan seemed to like this answer, but still hesitated with a response. “You...are we going to spend it together?” His fingers fiddled nervously with the hair at the nape of Richie’s neck.

 

“You’re not going home?” Richie says curiously, sitting up a little bit in Stan’s lap. Stan always seemed like a guy that would want to spend the holidays with his family, all normal and shit. They probably said a prayer and each went around the table saying they were thankful for things like their friends, their new jobs, or that they got approved for a new loan.

 

“No.” Stan says tersely. Richie waits a second. “Parents don’t do much for the holidays, you know how it is.”

 

And oh, Richie’s parents always did the most in unexpected ways during the holidays. He remembered two years ago when Maggie came around for Thanksgiving, high off her ass. Scared the shit out of Georgie. The year before that, she came around for Easter. Last year she had disappeared off the face of the earth.

 

Went was a different story, and he kind of had his shit together. He called once a year around Christmas, probably from a pay phone. He wandered a lot, never stayed in one place too long. But he wasn’t as spread as Maggie was, didn’t end up going cross-country. Richie had always kind of liked him a little more; he had always tried to understand Richie. 

 

So he’s honest. “No, not really.” Richie mutters. Because yeah, maybe his parents aren’t conventional or normal or even sane, but they always go above and beyond to surprise him in the worst ways possible. 

 

“Well, my dad does some financial stuff. Something I’m not even smart enough to understand.” Richie nods along as Stan speaks. “Never fucking home, you know? We used to do stuff when I was young. Scout shit-”

 

“On my honor, I will do my best to do my duty to God and country-” 

 

“Oh, shut up asshole.” He says fondly, pushing on Richie’s shoulder. Richie snickers. “Do you wanna know about them or not?” 

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Richie leans up and manages to press a kiss to Stan’s chin, a small chaste one, before nestling back into his spot. “Continue, you have my permission.”

 

“Ass.” Stan snorts, but goes back to his sincere self. He flicks a bit of ash and the soft wind picks it up. Richie doesn’t say anything when some of it lands on his hand. “Where was I?” He hums, trying to recollect his thoughts.

 

“Scout shit.” Richie reminds him thoughtfully. 

 

“Oh, yeah.” Stan scratches at his own chin. “Scout shit. Bird watching, knot tying, whole shebang. Mom sold the popcorn to all her ritzy friends. Besides that, she wasn’t a huge fan of it. Or anything for that matter. Just how she was. Her and dad never really agreed on much, and I never agreed with either of them.”

 

Richie grins. “A rebellious streak? Ever had one of those? Eyeliner and emo bands?”

 

“Here I am, spilling my heart out, and you’re joking around.” Stan said, obviously joking. “I’ll stop there.”

 

Richie pouts, reaching up and tugging at one of Stan’s curls. He gets a shove in return. “Hey, I didn’t mean it.” His bottom lip wobbles comically. “C’mon, you gotta keep going.”

 

Stan’s lip twitches. “No, you have to be level four to unlock the rest of my backstory.” It’s such a Stan thing to say, but Richie isn’t too concerned. He figures there’s not much else to share anyway, especially with the amount of enthusiasm that Stan had on the subject.

 

He flicks his cigarette into the yard, sitting up and crowding into Stan’s space. Richie can feel the ghost of Stan’s breath, the smell of tobacco touching his cheeks. The new position he’s gotten himself into should be uncomfortable. His legs are thrown over Stan’s lap and half of his ass is hanging off the porch, but he holds himself steady with his hands around Stan’s neck.

 

“What level am I on?” His lips brush against Stan’s cheek.

 

“I don’t know.” Stan muses, turning his head so that their lips touch. “Maybe two?”

“Level two?” Richie squawks, ruining whatever resemblance of a moment the couple had left. He pushes himself out of his boyfriend’s lap. “Only level two? After all I’ve done for you, Stanley!”

 

The laugh that Stan let out was short, but his face looked like the sun. All warm and reminded Richie of spring, even though winter was quickly approaching. “C’mere.” Stan grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer again. “Don’t you have to get ready for work soon?”

 

Richie groans, knowing that 11 am is approaching too soon. “This conversation isn’t over.” He presses a kiss to Stan’s chin and untangling their limbs. He already misses the warmth that Stan was providing, and when he stands up, he can feel the wind send shivers down his spine. 

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, babe.” Stan flicks his own cigarette into the yard, stretching out his legs and not making a move to get up. “But I can stay for Thanksgiving?”

 

Oh, Richie had almost forgotten the whole point of the conversation. Thanksgiving. Thanks to his mom’s track record, he was scared to say yes but- “Yeah, sure.” Stan would’ve done the same for him, he’s sure of it. He opens the door and takes a look back at Stan, who’s staring at the street.

 

God, he was so pretty. Sharp angles and the gentle slope of his nose. Halo of curls. Somehow carrying this elegance that he must have been born with. Richie had joked about him being a human gazelle last week when Stan made a leap over the couch.

 

“You goin’ back to your apartment?” Richie asks.

 

Stan seems to be snapped out of his reverie. “Uh, no.” Stan mutters. “Think I’ll stay around here a bit more, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t miss the way Stan’s lip twitches.

 

“Okay, yeah.” Richie says, feeling some sort of adrenaline or other happy chemical flooding into his brain. “Yeah, that’s good. I’m going to go get ready, y’know. Don’t wanna be late.”

 

“Love you, babe.” He hears Stan say as he shuts the door.

 

“Love you too!” He shouts, before running up the stairs to get changed.

 

* * *

 

A lot of things run through Richie’s mind during his shift.

 

Being a busboy isn’t the most intellectually stimulating way to spend his time, but he sucks it up and makes the best of it. It’s a lot of time to sort through his ‘inner turmoil’ as Ben had called it. He supposedly had a lot of it, even though he never realized.

 

There’s no better time to think about that than when he’s collecting half full glasses of Diet Coke and scraping partially eaten burgers off plates.

 

The most important thing at the front of his mind was the big black SUV that was supposedly sitting outside his home everyday. Well, Mike’s home, seeing as the man bought it off of his parents all those years ago. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that there was a mysterious vehicle that had started showing up whenever Stan did.

 

And Stan had completely dodged Richie’s questions about it.

 

It’s not really in his nature to be confrontational with the people he cares about, so he thinks about how Stan is probably doing him a favor. In some weird twisted way. Maybe it was just to keep Richie safe, which was nice. But whatever it was, Richie was sure that he could help Stan out of it. He never took Stan as the borrowing kind, but maybe he just owed someone a little money. 

 

Bill would hit him upside the head for thinking like this, if Bill wasn’t extremely pissed at him still. He’s not exactly sure how much longer he could wait around for forgiveness. Tension was still high in the house and the only one who didn’t seem phased was Georgie, who was just as much of an optimist in situations like these. There’s no way Georgie could keep Richie in check, he was only thirteen afterall.

 

And Bill wouldn’t be keeping him in check anytime soon. Everything had really been fine and gone to shit.

 

He felt vibrating in his pocket.

 

So he’s not technically supposed to have his phone on him while he’s at work. The thing is, he doesn’t trust anyone to remember his managers number for emergencies. The only ones they can remember are Richie’s and Bev’s, but Bev is spotting about answering about some reason.

 

Richie takes a quick glance around the place. His manager is nowhere in sight, and h is only visible coworker is diligently cleaning glasses. Grabbing his phone out of his back pocket, he glances at the caller ID.  

 

Ben.

 

After the other day, Ben had felt incredibly guilty. So guilty about the whole situation that he temporarily moved back in with his aunt to distance himself from the house. He said he needed to find some sort of work anyway, because sitting around the house wasn’t working anymore. He didn’t seem to mad at Richie, but Richie just figured that’s the guilt talking.

 

Richie accepts the call and puts the phone up to his ear. “Hello?” He doesn’t say it too loudly, still a bit paranoid about his manager coming around the corner and catching him with contraband.

 

“We’ve got a problem.” Ben sounds a little panicked, which isn’t too concerning for Richie. Benny boy is kind of like Eddie in that regard, voice always laced with a bit of panic or excitement. It just depends on the day.

 

“Hit me with in, Benjamin.”

 

“Georgie is in trouble at school.” Richie can hear some rustling on the other line and some people in the background, as if he was standing in the office at that moment.

 

Georgie Denbrough is no troubled kid, at least as far as Richie can tell. He’s smart, that had been established. He was a little snarky, he liked to push limits. But he had never gotten in trouble.

“And this constitutes as an emergency because…” His voice trails off, waiting for Ben to answer the question. There’s a pregnant pause in the air, and that’s when the concern hits Richie. The idea that Georgie is in big trouble is just unfathomable, something his mind can’t comprehend.

 

“He needs a relative to come pick him up. One on his list.” Richie can tell Ben is trying to lead him to some conclusion.

 

“Bill’s on his list.” Richie says defensively. “Why didn’t you call him?” 

 

Ben lets out a huge sigh, his frustration with the whole situation apparent even though Richie can’t see him. Ben was a huge worry-wart most of the time, paranoid to some extent. Richie can just imagine his brows furrowed, strong hand rubbing irritatedly at his temple. “Eddie called me.” He finally says. “Bill’s in...uh.” He pauses, as if he himself is looking around cautiously like Richie is. “Jail.” He finishes lamely.

 

“What?” Richie practically squawks. His coworker at the bar looks up from the glasses. “For what?” He lowers his voice.

 

“Didn’t really get the details on that.” Ben says sheepishly. “But he’s probably not going to be out until tomorrow so-”

 

“I have to find Zack.” Richie finishes for him. 

 

“Or Sharon.” Ben suggests helpfully. “You don’t have to go alone either! I can go with you.” The words come tumbling out, good intentions obvious.

 

Richie rubs at his brow, fingers clenched tighter around his phone. “Remember the last time we saw Sharon?” He gives a humorless laugh. “We’re better off heading to the North Side.”

 

“Want me to go with you?” Ben sighs in defeat. 

 

“Nah, don’t you worry your pretty little head, Benjamin.” Richie says, although the humor sounds off, too forced. Nothing close to Richie’s normal joking. “I’ve got this all under control. You head on home, okay? Tell that aunt of yours that I  _ loved  _ last night. Some quality stuff.”

 

“Beep beep, Richie.” Richie can imagine his expression turning sour. Even after that, Ben says one last thing before hanging up. “Love you.”

 

Richie thinks that maybe if Ben hadn’t missed the first two months of first grade all those years ago, things would be different. Bill had called dibs on Richie all those years ago, and dibs was a strong thing when you were six years old. Richie could tell any other kid what Bill was saying through his mushmouth. They had an understanding, like their brains were connected. But Ben? Ben and him walked the same beat, and he’s pretty sure their hearts reflected that too. 

 

Ben Hanscom was never mad, always understanding, and sometimes a bit of a pushover. If Richie knew anyone else like that, he can’t say he would be above taking advantage of them. But Ben? Sweet, caring Ben was his brother in another life, he was sure of it.

 

“Love you too, Ben.”

He hangs up after that, brain whirring a little too fast. 

 

It didn’t take long for him to realize that he needed to get off his shift early. He grabbed the tub of dishes and brought them to the back, hanging up his apron on the way. Some boy who worked in the back doing God knows what, gave him an odd look as he grabbed his time card. 

 

It took some convincing to get Betty to let him leave early for a family emergency. Richie didn’t tell her exactly what happened. In fact, he kind of told her that his mom was sick. It wasn’t a lie, although it definitely wasn’t the truth either.

 

Richie was glad that he was kind of good at lying.

 

His walk to the L is a short one, and the thought of how long this whole adventure is going to take pops into his head. Maybe he should’ve taken Ben up on his offer. Company wouldn’t be bad. 

 

Cellphone in hand, he presses Stan’s contact and listens to the ringing. His feet tap and he watches the business man that’s sitting uncomfortably in the seat across from his. North Side bound, he figures. Just like he’ll be in a bit. The L takes off while the phone is still held to his ear.

 

“You’ve reached Stan Uris, please leave your number and nature of your business.”

 

_ Beep. _

 

Stan didn’t answer. Richie wonders if he should leave a message, or just try calling again. He decides on the first option. 

 

“Hey Stan, baby.” He’s feet still nervously tap on the floor. He glances out the window. “I’m heading North Side to find Bill’s dad. Real long story. If you want to go with, or even just want filled in, call me back? Love you, bye.” 

 

Richie hangs up the phone.

 

Paranoia hangs heavy. Stas has never not picked up the phone before, and everything that Tricia said comes rushing back. He shouldn’t be worried, he knows. Stan can handle himself, he’s a big boy. A grown man, probably capable of a lot more adult things than Richie is.

 

Stan was probably just taking a nap, or maybe he got called into work. Sometimes they did that when it was a particularly busy day. Maybe he was driving to go back to his own apartment. There were endless possibilities of things that Stan could be doing right now instead of answering his phone.

 

It doesn’t stop him from worry eating at his stomach the whole train ride. 

 


	6. how did i get here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an interlude.

Stan is fond of thinking that he is smart.

 

Not in a frivolous and narcissistic manner like many people assume, but he thinks it nonetheless. He’s amazing at telling the half truth, and he’s even better at being rational about the whole ordeal. However, sometimes he thinks it’s best to reflect on the whole truth.

 

Here it is.

 

The truth is that Stanley Uris had never applied to medical school at UMKC. He had never even had the desire to be a doctor in the first place. Blood made him squeamish. School was something that he was actually adept at, and he had done two years of college a while back. He majored in accounting.

 

If he is being honest with himself, he thinks, he might as well not half-ass it. 

 

Actually, he might just leave it at that. But medical school was the biggest lie, he thinks, by far. Stanley Uris is his real name, he is twenty-six, and he did grow up in Atlanta, Georgia. He had a vested interest in birds, and he definitely did grow up Jewish.

 

His father was a high up financial manager at a company Stan couldn’t give a shit about, and his name was Donald. Donald expected a lot out of his son at a young age, and Stan stuck with the strict regimen for longer than he would care to admit. Do-good, can-do attitude. Stan was pretty good at pretending he had one.

 

Stan thinks it’s a lot like Richie’s voices, except a lot less loud. While in reality there may be only one Stan Uris, three of him really exist. Not whole new people, obviously. They all stemmed from Stan, and it’s like a game of pretend. He’s learned to switch between all of them effortlessly when the time is right. 

 

They’re a lot like Richie’s voices because he can seamlessly transition between them. When they’re walking down the street hand in hand and Richie sees someone out of place, a new character is created. Sometimes it’s because the man waiting at the stop sign looks too posh, or a bitchy old woman pushes by them too fast. It’s like a whole backstory pops into Richie’s head and he’s off to the races.

 

Stan’s like that too, except for it’s less facetious. When he sees his dad, Stanley “The Boy Scout” Uris comes out to play. Yes, sir. No, sir. I’ll do better next time, sir. That Stan learned how to tie nautical knots and hang his food in trees to keep it away from bears. The Stan that sold popcorn and built an outdoor classroom so he could become an Eagle Scout.

 

He only comes out to play when Donald is around, and Stan would prefer to keep it that way. The disappointment that comes with this version always hurts a little more than the others. 

 

This is the worst version of Stan Uris.

 

The best version is Stanley Uris in Chicago with Richie. It’s a work in progress title, but he’s coming to enjoy it. He supposes being linked to another person like that, caring about their wellbeing, does that to someone. Waking up in the morning with them, holding their hand, making breakfast with them.

 

. In all honesty, Stan had never dated seriously before. Which...might’ve been the issue.

 

Stan knows this thing is getting too serious, especially after the debacle from four days ago. Tricia should’ve never brought up the large SUV that sits in front of the house, only parking there when Richie and most of the other resident’s of the house are away at work. 

 

It bothers him, the SUV, because it brings out the a side he’s not fond of. The last version of him that he thinks exists.

 

The last is Paranoid Stanley Uris. He’ll have to come up with a shorter name, or something more catchy. He figures this is just a self reflection thing, so he’s not too concerned over the whole ordeal. 

 

This Stan Uris manifested mostly when he was alone, like he had been most of his time in Chicago. The Stan Uris that was constantly checking the time, the one whose hand was always ghosting over the small gun he kept inside his jacket, the one who checked the locks fifteen times before he went to sleep.

 

He was paranoid.

 

Yes, paranoid to an extreme extent thanks to his own doing. Getting into risky shit that he had no business being a part of. Some grand theft of the vehicular kind, moving drugs in said vehicles. Just normal stuff, at least to this version of Stan. He supposes this version of himself only exists so he can shift the blame, so Happy Stan can live guilty free in this fairytale with a man named Richie Tozier.

 

Paranoid Stan just happened to be at the forefront today.

 

Once Richie had left for work, Stan knew he should probably have gone back to his apartment. The thing about that was….it was so empty. Devoid of life. Not so much lived in as he’d like it to be. Richie’s house, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He found comfort in how messy and disorganized it was.

 

On a good day.

 

The second Richie stepped out the door, Stan made sure all five locks were bolted, along with shutting all of the blinds. It wouldn’t deter Tom, the man sitting out in the van. It never did, but in his head it made him less visible. Less anxious.

 

As he vacuumed the floor, he tried to talk himself out of it. He tried not to focus on his chapped hands from the obsessive hand washing, or the scratches on his wrist from that nervous tick he had. Instead, he focused on what Tom looked like. On what he could say to Tom...If he could even work up the courage to say anything. 

 

He had spent most of his time in Chicago avoiding Tom like the plague. Well, Tom’s boss. But to do that successfully, he just has to avoid the lackey that was sent after him. 

 

He had been failing miserably.

 

Maybe if he hadn’t gotten caught stealing those cars, which...Why did he even start doing that in the first place? For fun? Because he knew he was smart enough to do it? He had money, his father sent it to him every month (albeit a bit unwillingly), so why? That’s what started this whole mess after all.

 

Stan was starting to think that it wasn’t worth it.

 

At the forefront of his mind, he just kept thinking about how he didn’t deserve Richie. And Richie didn’t deserve some creep sitting outside of his house. Stan knows the selfless thing to do would to move back into his apartment, knows it would save all of them the worry. 

 

Stan has never really been selfless.

 

It only takes him another hour of cleaning around the house to talk himself into doing something incredibly stupid. It’s probably the most stupid thing Stanley Uris, any three of them, had ever done.

 

He puts down the dish towel, setting the last plate out to dry, and heads towards the living room. It sort of feels like he’s walking out of the house for the last time, and Stan gets an odd feeling in his stomach. One of uneasiness and discomfort.

 

The list of things he could say to Tom are in his head, perfectly constructed arguments that any reasonable person would agree to. 

 

He unlocks the five bolts on the door and peeks his head out.

 

Tom isn’t a reasonable man.

 

Tom is sitting outside in the black SUV. It’s parallel parked in front of Stan’s own vehicle, a standard but outdated silver sports car from 2007. He half expects the SUV to pull off the second he steps out onto the porch. Stan has always let his nerves get the best of him, but the vehicle doesn’t move so he makes his way down the porch steps.

 

It’s not as cold as it had been in the previous weeks, Chicago weather being a bit temperamental. If it was Atlanta, he’d still be wearing shorts, not his jacket and jeans, but he digresses. 

 

The closer he gets to the SUV, the more he can feel his heart coming out of his throat. The kind of feeling that chokes you up, blocks your airways.

 

Stan doesn’t like this at all.

 

It’s too late to run back.

 

Before he can make it to the driver’s side door, it’s opening up. One shiny dress shoe steps out after the other, and there’s Tom Rogan in all of his glory. It’s one of the things that scares Stanley the most.

 

Tom Rogan is not a very large man, but he is intimidating nonetheless. He doesn’t have much muscular definition, and there’s a bit of a beer gut on him. Like he spends too much time at the bar that Ben had worked out before he had to move out. He wore black from head to toe, and Stan supposes that the dress pants and shirt are supposed to be ironed. They’re not.

 

“Never thought you’d get so brave, boy.” The voice is gruff, and Stan can’t focus on anything but Tom’s crooked, ugly nose as he goes internal.

 

“Stop watching me.” He snaps, and it’s short and cold and definitely was not on the list of things he was planning on saying.

 

Tom laughs.

 

Stanley feels like a child again, small and unable to control the situation. Tom attitude towards him is one of an apathetic father. He knows the feeling too well. It makes him sick.

 

“Whatcha gonna do if I don’t, Stanley?” Tom practically spits. “Send that pretty redhead neighbor of yours after me? She’s a pretty one-”

 

“Don’t talk about her like that!” His blood had run cold. There’s no way that Tom can be bringing Beverly into this right now. This didn’t have anything to do with Beverly or Patty or Richie or anyone else. This was Stan’s problem.

 

Tom took a step forward, towards Stan, and Stan could practically feel his heart rate skyrocket. Maybe he should have kept his voice down, not been so demanding, should have tried to be a bit more manipulative than forward.

 

It was too late for that now.

 

He put up his hands in surrender, trying to step back. Tom had reached forward, and his meaty fingers circled Stan’s wrist. The grip was tight, and Stan bit his lip. He had to keep calm, because there was one thing he knew about Tom.

 

If you cowered, he really got his rocks off on it...For lack of a better phrase. Tom was a sadist who liked to see others in pain. If Stan cried or even let out a sniffle, Tom would only make things exponentially worse. So Stan was going to have to not be a whiny bitch, just this one. He could manage that.

 

“Where ya been boy? Keeping your promise?”

 

His promise. That’s right. His promise to stay out of trouble, stop fucking around with the wrong people, lay low, not get in the way. A contract where if he breached it, nothing good was to come of it.

 

“Yeah.” Stan says lightly, as if this is some sort of normal conversation. “I’m making good on it.”

 

Tom has taken a special interest in Stan’s fingers, seeming to inspect his nails. It looks like he even counted them to make sure they’re all there. The inspection makes Stan feels scrutinized, makes him wonder what Tom is-

 

Stan’s phone rings.

 

It’s the one ringtone he set for Richie’s phone call, straying from the default marimba tone and going for some sort of cheesy bird call. He liked being able to differentiate between Richie and everyone else.

 

“Can I answer that?”  Stan asks, flexing the muscles in his hand.

 

“No.” Tom says, tightening his grip on Stan’s wrist. He seems to take a special interest in Stan’s ring finger.

 

Stan’s breath hitches and he hates that he has to listen to the ringtone over and over. Richie probably needs him for something. He’s calling in the middle of his shift, which his manager cannot be happy about.

 

Despite Richie’s knack for always getting in trouble, he never does it just for kicks. No, he was better than that, better than Stan. Stan got into trouble just because he could, but no. Richie was a good guy and would only be calling if he had too. Or if he was on break and just wanted to hear Stan’s voice.

 

He felt his heart get a little warm at the thought.

 

It ended up back in his stomach only moments later when Richie obviously gave up calling, bringing him back to the reality where Tom had a grip on him.

 

“You lyin’ to me about the trouble, boy?”

 

“No.”

 

“Well, then what was that about the other day? The yellin’? The pretty girl standin’ in your doorway?” 

 

He wanted to ask how Tom knew about that. He knew that Tom wasn’t sitting in front of the house on that day, because almost everyone was home. That was risky behavior that Tom couldn’t afford. 

 

“Don’t look so down. I’ve got my ways. So I’ll ask you again, Stanley. You lyin’ to me?”

 

“No.” Stan says soundly, and he begins to wonder if a voice can waver on a single syllable Maybe, he thinks, it’s just because he is incredibly unlucky. Or it may be because he is a huge coward. “I’m not lying.” His voice seems more sound and stable this time, he thinks. He’s almost proud of himself.

 

The pain that comes from his ring finger is fast, quick, and something he couldn’t have seen coming. Tom’s meaty fingers had snapped out and wrapped around his ring finger and jerking it sideways. 

 

“Oh fuck!”

He wasn’t expecting it at all, and he supposed he should have been. He was an idiot for thinking he’d get out of confronting Tom unharmed. Stan could feel the tears that were welling up in his eyes, but he managed to blink them away and hold back anymore expletives. 

 

“You listen here, boy.” His breath smells disgusting as he gets closer and closer to Stanley’s face. “You try to get brave with me again, we’ll have some issues.”

 

“Yes, sir.” He grits out.

 

Tom let go of his hand after that, Stan’s hand falling to his side. He spit onto the sidewalk before climbing back into that big SUV, slamming the door shut behind him. Stan had lost, he realized in that moment, even though he was so sure he was going to win. He not sure exactly what winning would look like in this scenario.

 

Stan takes his walk of shame back to the house, cradling his hand  closer to his chest. A coward, walking back to the house with his tail between his legs. He’d have to wrap this or something, get into some of Eddie’s supplies.

 

He wishes he could’ve flipped off Patty, who was watching from her own front porch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was the one chapter we get from stan's point of view! picking back up with richie next time.


	7. you stood up for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving is here. Three days later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for my absence! i've had some personal stuff going on along with a few projects. my new twitter user is @transuris if you wanted another platform that i'm more active on. enjoy :)
> 
> tw: drug references, implied mental illness and self harm (if you're actually looking for it. like it's never mentioned by name. you'd have to really squint.)

Richie cannot cook.

 

Yeah, sure. He can throw together a hasty school lunch and make macaroni from a box. If he’s feeling extra fancy, he can manage to put chicken breast in the oven instead of chicken nuggets. He’s no extraordinaire, but he knows enough to get by. He figures, in a different life, he would be the guy that offers to bring the veggie tray to pot lucks. 

 

The issue with this is that this isn’t a potluck. This is Thanksgiving with the rest of the losers that he calls family. Bev always brings dessert, which is nice to think about, and Patty brings liquor, which is even nicer.

 

Ben will be coming back from his aunt’s house, which sort of sets him on edge, but he called bringing the macaroni and cheese. So there went Richie’s plan.

 

Even Georgie, who Richie had managed to retrieve from school three days ago, offered to run to the corner store and buy rolls with his measly allowance of nothing. He had volunteered himself for the job on Richie and his train ride back home. Richie was just thankful they had made it onto the train that day.

 

Zack Denbrough, a man he would have once considered a paternal figure, was one of the biggest dicks he knew. South Side washup managing to scam his way through to the North Side, stuck up his nose at all of them as if he hadn’t left them for dead. Was supposedly so much better than all of them.

 

Richie didn’t see how, considering the man left his wife and kids with nowhere to go. Not only that, but he knew Sharon of all people was not fit to take care of children in the first place. Afterall, she’d probably be passed out if Richie had shown up on her doorstep Monday afternoon.

 

But no. Instead he dragged his ass all the way to the North Side to find Zack. The thought just made him want to chop the potatoes even more harshly than he already was.

 

Zack had been a right dick about the whole thing. Said something along the lines of  _ If Georgie had been with me he wouldn’t be getting in to trouble, now would he Richard?  _ He was smart enough to not bring up the fact that Bill was in jail, for what he later found out was assault. Defending Eddie or some shit, like the spitfire needed it. Richie had resisted the urge to snap at him, could send the red rushing to his face and could feel his nails biting the skin of his palm.

 

The issues that Richie had with Zack Denbrough could probably be found on a list over a mile long. However, the list seemed to get longer with everytime they met. Richie said as little as possible during their last encounter, only doing enough to convince Zack that he needed to get Georgie from school.

 

He didn’t bring up Sharon once.

 

Richie didn’t really understand the Denbroughs, but he supposes nobody really did. They had two great sons who had all the potential in the world, but their parents truly ruined it for them. Yeah, Georgie and Bill have their fault, but how could Zack and Sharon hate them so much?

 

Bill had a lot of emotions growing up, and Richie had been one hundred percent sure that his best friend struggled with depression. To the people in their neighborhood, depression was just how life was. Sharon didn’t see it. Zack definitely didn’t see it.

 

Richie had felt for once in his life that he wasn’t blind.

 

Another one of those times had been on the train, Georgie volunteering all he had for the rest of their misshapen family. Richie, Mike, Ben, Bev...Hell, even Stan. They weren’t his parents, and he had no obligation to them. Georgie was still willing to give up the three bucks he had scraped up to buy some rolls. Not that Bunny Bread bullshit, but honest to god rolls.

 

Richie knew Georgie would turn out all right.

 

It wasn’t Georgie he was necessarily stressed about. Bill’s court date wouldn’t be here before long, and he’d probably get off with something medial. It still cut into their already shrinking funds.

 

He didn’t want to reflect any further on the SUV that Patty had brought up, and when Mike had tried to confront him about it, he had avoided the whole thing. Not to mention that Bev, Patty, and Ben were all going to be sitting at the same table...And Richie would be sitting across from Bill for the first time in a week. Eddie was still pissed...but when wasn’t he? And Georgie was still blind to the whole thing.

 

“Lot on your mind?” He hears a voice behind him, and he smiles as he feels a chin rest itself on his shoulder. Richie pauses his chopping.

 

“Yeah,” He breathes. “How’d you tell?”

 

“Those potatoes looked mashed and they’re still raw.” Stan says simply. “Which, first of all, impressive. You must have some really strong hands.” Stan’s fingers trail down Richie’s forearm, making their way to his palm. His other hand, the one that had the broken finger, rested at the base of Richie’s spine. When he had asked, Stan said he accidentally slammed it in his car door. “Second, do you want to talk about it?”

 

“Not particularly.”

The thing, Richie has noticed, about Stan is that he isn’t willing to share but he is willing to pry. It doesn’t bother Richie all that much. Stan can just sense when Richie is bottling something up, and the communication is something they’ve been working on. Not covering up emotions with jokes and intimacy.

 

Working on something. Richie’s not exactly sure he’s ever done that in a relationship before.

 

“If it’s about Georgie, I get it.” Stan says, although there’s only the smallest bit of empathy in his voice. Richie has discovered over it is more than Stan is usually willing to give. 

“Just stressed dinner isn’t going to come together.” Richie supplies instead, because it’s true. Dinner was in six hour and he was lucky enough to get the turkey in on time. He figured Bill, Eddie, and Mike would all work their magic on the rest of the necessary side dishes when it came the time to do so.

 

He hears knocking from the front door and goes to set down his knife, but Stan makes his way towards the living room first. He figured it was just some neighbor asking if they had any cutlery to spare (they didn’t) or maybe one of Ben’s work friends that didn’t get the memo that he moved.

 

“Is my son here?” Richie can hear after the tell tale creaking of the door. He stops chopping the potatoes for a moment, blood running cold.

 

He hears the pause. “Who’s your son?” He can hear Stan say, can imagine Stan looking behind him as if the answer will be laid out for him.

 

“Richard.”

 

And fuck, he had completely forgotten about the existence of Maggie Tozier. It was best not to think about her after all, because she was some sort of natural disaster that left absolutely nothing intact. Richie had learned year after year, or maybe experienced was a better word.

 

Because he knew he would let her in.

 

He puts down the knife, because she’s not supposed to be near them, and heads towards the front door himself. The ten second walk feels like an hour of dread and despair that he wants to go away. She’ll ruin it. She will-

 

And there she is, standing in front of Stan as if everything was dandy between the two of them.

 

He supposes that Maggie was probably pretty in her youth, but time did not do her well. He could see the grey in her hair, but he supposes that happens to anyone around the age of forty-five. She had wrinkles around her eyes and track marks up her arms and-

 

“Richie, honey.” She says in that warm tone of hers. The one that shouldn’t feel like home, but he can’t say no.

 

He never learned.

 

“Hey, ma.” Richie gets out hoarsely. He pulls a bit at his collar, even more so when she pushes past Stan to pull him in for a hug. She pulls him down, his face in the crook of her neck just like he was a kid again. He’d always been taller since he hit his freshman year growth spurt. 

 

Maggie pulls back to get a good look at him, hands tightly around his biceps. “You get handsomer every time I see ya.” She grins excitably. “Ya gonna tell me who this is? I would know if he was one of your buddies.”

 

That she would. Bill, Ben, and Mike had been around since Richie was six years old. Eddie had shown up in their lives around age fifteen, but Maggie still had her habit of showing up uninvited to holidays. After all these years, he still doesn’t understand her motive. A free meal? A need to remind him that he’s fucked up?

 

She’s sure she hasn’t succeeded if she just keeps coming back for more.

 

“This is my boyfriend.” Richie swallows. “Stanley.”

 

There’s a flash of confusion across her face, and he can see how her happiness has morphed into some kind of disgust. Maggie Tozier is a woman of many faces, a trait she passed down to her son, and easily covered it up.

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Stanley.” She says, almost as if it was in passing. “Now where’s Michael? I’ve missed that boy.”

 

Richie jaw clicks shut. “Upstairs with his two boyfriends.” He grits out, the charm of seeing his mother gone. It doesn’t matter if he wants her to leave. She knows he doesn’t have the heart to do it, and she’s already got her foot in the door. That’s all she needs to do to ruin his life yet again, on a holiday no doubt.

 

He glances over at Stan, who also seems a little peeved by Maggie’s behavior. When their eyes meet, it’s true understanding. Stan gets it. It’s obvious Stan gets it. 

 

“Progressive household.” She seems someone delighted to inspect the pattern on the couch, running her fingers over the textured fabric of the cushions as she walked towards the kitchen.

 

“Hey ma!” Richie followed closely behind her. He could feel the shadow of Stan behind him, “You know you’re not supposed to be in there.”

 

She tilts her head as if she doesn’t know what Richie could possibly be implying. Richie can’t think of any way to get her out. His fingers twitch at the thought of her feet ever crossing the threshold.

 

“Mrs. Tozier?” Richie can feel himself let out a breath of relief as Stan speaks. “How about I show you where Richie and I were planning to put a garden in next summer.?”

 

Richie and Stan had never actually planned out a place to put a garden, and Richie is amazed at how smoothly the lie went. But now that he thinks about it, if he wasn’t so busy all the time, he could imagine having one in the future. Like they were some sort of middle class family. A nice thought.

 

His mother seems to contemplate this, but in the end she nods and follows Stan out the front door.

 

Stan throws him a wink.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

“Okay, okay!” Mike calls attention to the head of the table while he claps his hands. To his right sits Bill, to his left sits Eddie. 

 

Richie, who is seated next to Bill and Stanley, wonders how Mike is going to manage to eat his food when his two boyfriends won’t let go of his hands. Luckily, Richie and Stan don’t have that problem. Thank god Richie is left handed, it’ll make eating so much easier.

 

Across from Richie is Georgie, next to him is Ben. Ben got the pleasure of begin sat next to Maggie, who was currently acting as some sort of divider between Ben and Patty. Bev was seated inbetween Patty and Stan, completing the circle. 

They had ended up needing to pull the kitchen and dining room tables together in the large walkway in the kitchen to fit all of them.

 

Mike sits at the head of the table because it’s his house, and everyone seems to be in mutual agreement that they don’t want to be in charge of carving the turkey.  No one wants to be the first in their yearly declaration of what they’re all thankful for either.

 

So Mike starts.

 

“I’m thankful for my job.” He pauses, trying to think of what his less serious one will be. That’s the rule afterall. It’s one Richie instilled after they spent their first Thanksgiving crying over each other’s thoughtful thanks and canned goods. “And the supply of breakfast bars I have in the cabinet.”

 

Richie can see the blush rise to Bill’s cheeks even though he tries to hide it by looking down at his empty plate. The smile that crosses Richie’s face is small, but it’s there. 

 

     Eddie is next. 

 

     “I'm obviously thankful for my for my relationship.” He pauses for a moment and Richie can feel eyes on him. “And for the family friendly environment we have in this household.”

 

      Patty snorted and Richie began to feel some sort of feel burrow it's way into his skin. Like an itch. He didn't think anyone would bring any of the most recent events up over a nice Thanksgiving dinner. 

 

       The hollow feeling in his torso disappates when Georgie says, “‘m thankful for Richie. Went  _ allllll  _ the way out to Zacks house so I could come home.” And Richie doesn't like to cry, so he's glad Georgie moves on to his funny one soon enough. “And tits, I guess.”

 

       Maggie, from only a few seats down, looks absolutely scandalized. Especially when Richie starts to laugh. “Richard! Why is that child-”

 

       “He's almost a teenager, Mags.” The laughter is still bubbling out of his throat. He can feel Stan’s silent laughter from where their hands are clasped under the table. “Georgie can say what he wants.”

 

         Georgie gives him a big grin, and Richie honestly feels like a proud parent in that moment. Even Bill is smiling, and it's obvious Eddie is trying to keep his face neutral during the whole thing. 

 

         “I'm thankful for my aunt, especially in the past week.” The uncomfortable air is back now that Ben is sharing. Even Ben looks like his own skin is crawling. He doesn't look up from his plate, even though there isn't any food on it. “I can't think of anything amusing. Sorry, Richie.”

 

          “Nah, it's alright Haystack.” Richie shrugs, and the baton is quickly passed to-

 

         Maggie. She's obviously a bit nervous, and does that high pitched laugh. It's a dead giveaway for when she's anxious, or about to say something incredibly stupid. 

 

         Theoretically, his mom knows everyone at the table except Stan. She's been over for holidays before. This isn't even her first Thanksgiving. But Richie doesn't have a good feeling about this. Everytime it ends in disaster, but he never learns. He doesn’t think that he ever will. He’s a bit too forgiving with her.

         Richie's eyes narrow when he sees her wipe her hands on her lap, shifting. “Just give me a minute.” She titters, going to straighten out her silverware. He feels Stan stiffen next to him as the clock ticks on. 

 

         He can hear Patty clicking her teeth. He knows his leg is bouncing. Georgie's eyes are looking at everything except Maggie. Bills slouched over in his seat. 

 

She didn't have anything prepared? Seriously? He could feel indignation building up in his chest. 

 

“I guess….” She hums, head nodding from side to side. Maggie looks up at the light hanging above the table as if it will give her answers. “I’m thankful for the significant others I’ve had.” She seems to think about it as if she hadn’t already said it, then nodded as if it was satisfactory.

 

Sadly, Richie does not have a filter.

 

“The one with the meth lab or the alcoholic?” He huffs out.

 

“Richie-” Bill starts. Of course, it’s Bill. Bill has spent his whole life tip toeing around his parents and only called them out on their bullshit after Richie coached him through it. He’s always been a Maggie Tozier sympathizer to some extent.

 

“No, Bill.” He grinds out between his teeth. “I want her to answer.”

 

Maggie looks like she just aged about ten years, even though her facial expression mirrors that of a ten year old girl. Her hands are holding on for dear life on the edge of the table, and her eyes are incredibly wide. “Now, Richard-”

 

He knows people are looking. They’re all sitting around the table for fuck’s sake, but they know Maggie almost as well as he does. Ben and Bill grew up right next to him, Mike and Eddie joining the picture a little later. Patty, who used to take his side, had heard story after story, along with Beverly.

 

“Don’t.” The words don’t fall from his mouth surprisingly. Instead, it’s Stan who speaks up, holding onto Richie with his uninjured hand. “C’mon Maggie.” The words aren’t malicious like Richie’s were, but they’re definitely still asking for trouble. “Answer the question.”

 

“Stanley-” Bev speaks up for the first time.

 

“You’re all just mad because he’s taking my side.” Richie huffs out, chair scraping as he pushes away from the table. “It’s definitely the one with the meth lab, by the way.” His voice cracks, catches in his throat somewhere in the middle of the sentence. He kind of feels a little wobbly.

 

“Now that’s not true, sweetie. That’s not what I meant-”

 

“It’s exactly what you meant, mom!” Richie knows he’s upset. He can practically feel adrenaline rushing to him, veins practically burning, just wanting to scream. “Because first you invite yourself to dinner! Then you bring on home! Then you’ll be strung out on the damn living room floor. You don’t even have the decency to get to the damn couch!”

 

The silence is nothing compared to the pounding in his ears. All those eyes are on him, waiting for him to do something even more irrational than yelling at his mother over dinner. Twenty seven and holding a grudge against his mother. Well, fuck them for thinking it’s petty. Richie knows it’s warranted.

 

He wants to hit something. He settles for leaving the table instead.

 

When he gets to the stairs in the living room, out of sight, he hears another chair being pushed back from the table. He stops for a moment on the stoop.

 

“I think by time he gets back down,” Oh. It was Stanley. “You should be gone, Maggie. It was  _ lovely _ to meet you.” The last half of his boyfriend’s testament was drowned out by sarcasm, sickly sweet and palpable in the air. 

 

Richie can hear footsteps approaching him, getting louder as they get closer, although the living room lights are off so it’s pretty dark.

 

“Hey, baby.” The voice is quieter than the voice that was coming from the kitchen, but it was still obviously Stan. Richie’s being pulled into a hug, back hunching so he can bury his nose in the crook of Stan’s neck. The smell is more comforting than he thought it would be, and Stan’s uninjured hand goes to rub a soothing circle on Richie’s hip, shucking up the ugly dress shirt that he had decided to wear.  “Wanna go upstairs and lie down?”

 

He nods his head, inhaling deeply.

 

“Let’’s do that then, yeah?” Stan suggests. “We can talk in the morning.”

 

“You stood up for me.” Richie responds petulantly as Stan detaches from him, although their sides are still practically glued together. Stan is supporting most of his weight, and Richie kind of feels useless like this. But it’s nice to have someone take care of him, follow him.

 

No one has ever done something like that in front of Maggie for him before. Stan must have some experience in the ‘standing up to authority figures’ department. It makes something flutter in his chest, instead of the pounding from early. 

 

“That’s what you do when you’re in love with someone, I guess.” 

 

Richie can feel the flush rising to Stanley’s neck, just from their proximity. He didn’t think he was capable of it at the moment, but he does anyway. Stan leads them up the stairs, stumbling a bit even though they didn’t even drink the cheap red wine that Bill bought. Stan probably would’ve, and then Richie would’ve broken out the tequila later in the night. That’s how it usually worked. 

 

Thanksgiving with Maggie was not how things usually worked.

 

Richie can almost hear the smile in his own voice. It feels like he’s floating. “Yeah, I guess.”


	8. it's the call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three days later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no trigger warnings! but long time, no see guys!

“Okay, here.” Stan grabbed the towel from Richie’s hands. “You’ve gotta fold it in half twice,” He demonstrated. “Then you have to do a trifold.”

 

Richie huffed, sinking back into the couch. The towel in his hand made its way back to the basket “You make it look a whole lot easier.”

 

“I’m not doing all the laundry,” Stan said warningly. 

 

Richie knew that, of course. Stan had been at work all day, and now it was around three in the afternoon. Maybe four. He hadn’t checked the clock on the stove, nor his phone, in a long time. Why did the kitchen have to be so far from the incredibly comfy couch? 

 

“But babe,” Richie whined. He hadn’t gone to work in three days, but he didn’t pull a no call, no show so he would be fine. Thanksgiving with his mother had taken a toll on him, and he didn’t want to say he was depressed, even though he knows he should probably just admit that his mental health is worse than it would be on any other given day. 

 

“Nope.” Stan said shortly, sitting up straight and crossing his arms. 

 

It was moments like this where Stan still looked so out of place. His posture was sort of impeccable, and the messy living room around him sure made him stand out. Not to mention that he sort of reminded Richie of a stern soccer mom minus the Lululemon leggings. Although, his ass would look pretty great in them.

 

Richie groaned, dragging himself up from the worn out cushions. “F _ iiiiiiiiine. _ ” He picked up the towels and began folding Stan’s way, which was definitely neater. Usually he would just fold them however he wanted to. 

 

“You’re not supposed to change the direction of the fold, babe.” Stan reminded him, although made no effort to show him what the fuck he was even talking about. “You’re gonna have to start over.”

 

“You do it so much better than I do-”

 

“What's he bitching about now?” Eddie said, feet making the loudest possible noise they could down the stairs. His little sneakered feet always had a knack for squeaking when they got to the hardwood floors of the living room.

 

Richie just sunk back in the sofa. Eddie was one to talk about whining.  _ Stanley presses his pants differently than I do, Richie! You might as well just throw the whole boyfriend away. _

 

And okay, Richie was over exaggerating just a tad. It didn’t feel like he was though. Something was always wrong with Stanley according to Eddie, and for some reason, Eddie thought that Richie could just magically fix it for some reason. The pipsqueak couldn’t just let Richie be happy, couldn’t worry about his own two boyfriends or whatever.

 

It had seemed to be like that ever since they broke it off a few years ago. It was pretty mutual, at least it was in Richie’s eyes. Eddie made puppy dog eyes at Mike and Bill, who had still been in their honeymoon phase, and Richie was getting left in the dust. No hard feelings when they both approached each other.

 

But Richie can’t help but be a little angry at how Eddie is so nitpicky with who Richie spends his time with. He’s a free man and didn’t need Eddie doting on him.

 

“Laundry.” Stanley says a little stiffly, giving Eddie a warning glance. That’s the other thing. Stanley and Eddie have very similar personalities, and Richie thought that would help them get along. However, it seemed to have the opposite effect.

 

The short man looks between the two of them quizzically, as if he doesn’t believe Richie’s boyfriend is telling the truth. He brushes it off after a moment though. “Mike, Bill, and I have a date tonight.” Eddie informs them. “We won’

t be in tonight.”

 

Richie groans. “Not you guys too.” But it’s too late because Eddie is already out the door and doesn’t hear Richie’s complaints.

 

“I think you can hold down the fort all by yourself.” Stanley says confidently, picking up another towel and folding away. Richie gets a bit entranced by the ease of it all. Stan always had that ease and confidence about him, especially when they did chores together. 

 

Richie slinks back so he can look up at his boyfriend. “I don’t want to be alone.” It sounds a lot more vulnerable than he intends.

 

Bill, Mike, and Eddie are going on their stupid date. Georgie is spending the night at some friend’s house. Patty and Beverly have better things to do than house his moping ass. And he wishes Stan could stay but-

 

“I wish they hadn’t called me in for work either.” Stan says, voice tight. “But successful people do things that have to be done, even if they don’t want to.”

 

Richie laughs.

 

“What’s so funny, asshole?” Stan’s eyes are all crinkled at the corners as he shoves his boyfriend’s should. “Huh? What’s so funny?” He antagonizes as Richie playfully shoves him back.

 

Richie gasps when Stan’s fingers make their way under his shirt and to his ribcage. He squirms and laughs all the while, trying to wipe for tears from his eyes. The towel that had been in Stan’s lap are on the floor now, but he doesn’t seem to care all too much. Richie doesn’t either. “I just think it’s-”  _ Hiccup.  _ “Odd..” Your definition of successful.”

 

The tickling stops for a moment, and Richie is scared that he’s upset Stan somehow. 

 

That doesn’t seem to be the case though, because Stan’s features soften all over again. Richie appreciates the soft look that Stan gets sometimes, even though it’s incredibly rare. Richie knows that it’s a look reserved specifically for him. 

 

“I think I’m pretty successful.” Stan muses, leaning over Richie. “I’ve got a job that pays twenty cents over minimum wage, and a pretty hot boyfriend.”

 

Richie sits up a bit, propping himself up on his elbows. His bottom lip sticks out, a big pout covering his features. “Well damn,” He sighs. “I’ve only got one of those.”

 

Things escalated pretty quickly after that, Richie has to admit. Stan had thrown one of his legs over Richie’s lap, straddling him. His back was definitely protesting the position, but he didn’t dare say anything to ruin the moment. It wasn’t every day that Stanley forgot about chores and replaced it with a makeout session. 

 

“It’s nice to know you only have one hot boyfriend.” Stanley says seriously. “When can I meet him?”

 

“Oh, fuck off.” Richie says, so close to Stanley that their lips ghost over each other when the words fall from his mouth. “You’re not gonna snatch him away, he’s way outta your league.”

 

Stan doesn’t respond with any words, instead presses his open mouth to Richie’s lips. Richie definitely reciprocates, because he’d take any excuse to kiss Stan ever. Stan isn’t what Richie would call a very enthusiastic kisser, but what he lacks in spontaneity, he makes up for with skill. He’s definitely the opposite of Richie.

 

When Stan pulls back, Richie thinks the spontaneous moment is over all together. Instead, Stan presses open mouthed kisses to Richie’s jaw, making his way down his boyfriend’s throat. Hands ghost over the hem of Richie’s old and ratty t-shirt, tugging up just a little bit.

 

“Don’t you think we should-”

 

“Nope.” Stan says, getting Richie to shift so he can pull the shirt over his head. His trail of kisses makes its way down Richie’s chest. 

 

“I really don’t want you to leave.” He groans out as he stares at the ceiling.

 

Stan’s kisses stop. “I’m not going to.” Richie can feel the words whispered into his skin. They feel a lot heavier than they should be, laced with some sort of meaning that he is sure both of them understand. There’s a shift in the atmosphere then, when Stanley sits up. “But we have to finish folding these towels.”

 

Why does he always fall for Stan’s bait and switch tactics. He did it again! Distracting Richie with all of his hotness and sex appeal and then ripping it away just so Richie would finish some dumb menial task.

 

One day he would probably learn, but today wasn’t that day.

 

* * *

 

Richie knows for a fact that the coffee shop closed at 8 P.M. Personally, he couldn’t imagine himself drinking coffee anytime past 5. It fucked up his sleep schedule and his energy levels, among other things. So he had always complained about Stan having to work so late, because seriously, who drinks coffee when the sun is down?

 

However, it’s closing in on 10 P.M.

 

Stan should be home by now, but he also said he had to stop by his house. Something about bringing some stuff back to his place. Richie didn’t really get why, since Stan practically lived here now. 

 

Richie picked up his cell phone and chose his most recent contact, listening to the single ring.

 

_ “Hello,”  _ The voice was polite.  _ “You have reached Stanley Uris. Please state your reason for calling in a brief message after the beep. I’ll get back to you eventually.” _

 

He ends the call before the damn thing even beeps. It’s an instant regret, and he finds himself calling again. Calling twice couldn’t seem too clingy, right? Maybe Stan just pressed the wrong button. The man usually had his phone in his hand after work anyway. Or maybe he was talking to someone else.

 

The message plays over again. This time it beeps and Richie begins to talk. 

 

“Hey, babe.” He glances at the clock hanging over the stove. Yep, still close to 10. “Just wondering when you would be home. Have a feeling that the stooges rented out a motel and won’t be coming home tonight.” He clears his throat. “You’ve never been this late before and you’ve got me a little worried. Call me back ASAP.”

 

Once he hangs up, he sets his phone on the kitchen table and sits. 

 

Times like these are when he wonders what he did before Stan. He doesn’t remember having much of a life, but he remembers the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas being a lot busier. He was always trying to scrape together any money and time he had to get everyone a gift and make sure that everyone was where they were supposed to be.

 

He never would’ve imagined spending a Monday night like this. Sitting alone at the kitchen table with an empty house and no reason to go to bed. Lots has changed since last November, he supposes. 

 

Standing up from the kitchen table, he pushed in his chair and headed upstairs. He could at least try to get some sleep if Stan wasn’t going to be home soon.

 

Stripping down to his boxers and taking off his glasses was a lot more work than he remembered it being. Even his comforter felt a bit scratchier. Richie had never felt more hyperaware than he did in this moment. 

 

He supposes he had only been under his covers in the dark of his room for a few minutes, but it felt like hours of tossing and turning. Properly giving up, he propped himself up against his headboard and reached for his phone. Stanley had told him of countless studies where phones only make sleeping worse, but he wasn’t planning on sleeping anytime soon.

 

The ringing on the other line doesn’t go to voicemail this time. Instead-

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hey, Haystack.”

 

* * *

 

“His phone might’ve died.”

 

That was the first thing Ben said after a hello and pulling him in for a bear hug. His aunt’s place wasn’t too shabby, and she was actually out of town right now. 

 

“He never leaves the house without it being on one hundred percent.” Richie shrugs though, as if he’s taking it into consideration. “But maybe.”

 

Ben looks at him with understanding and leads him to the couch. It’s much comfier than the one at home, more homey. Probably more comforting than any other couch Richie has ever sat on. It’s definitely more comfy than the one Ben’s aunt had when they were kids.

 

The thought of Ben’s aunt kind of made Richie’s stomach turn. She was a silently manipulative person, and she definitely reminded Richie of a snake.

 

Ben and Richie have known each other for a long time, since around the time they went to kindergarten. The grimy halls of Lincoln Elementary were not kind to nerds, especially since it was the South Side. they were easy to pick  on, along with boys like Bill. It was easy for them to stick together.

 

Ben’s house had seemed like some sort of safe haven back then in comparison to what Richie and Bill had going on. It was only around when they were ten that Richie realized his aunt’s nice facade dropped the second Richie and Bill walked out the door.

 

When they were seventeen, along with Eddie, they all managed to pull together enough money to live on their own. Mike was unsuspecting when the four of them showed up with an ad to be his roommates. He didn’t say no, of course. He had been a few years older than them in school, knew a bit about them. Plus, they had enough to help him cover the expenses of living in his parents’ newly vacated home.

  
  


“Sorry that I’ve been gone these past few weeks.” Ben doesn’t sit down on the couch, but goes to grab some water from the fridge. Bottled water. He was living the high life on the North Side, Richie supposes.

 

“‘S my fault.” Richie takes the bottle and quickly breaks the seal on the top.

 

“Nah,” Ben doesn’t even think twice before he says it. “You were just defending me. That’s what family does.”

 

And that’s the thing about Ben. He was far more family than Maggie ever was. The moment feels a bit healing when he realizes it. Ben chose to stick around, even when he was hiding out in a nice apartment twenty minutes away. Ben never purposefully left or went ghost when he needed him most.

 

Ben was really family.

 

“You could kill a man and I’d help you hide the body.” He takes a drink of the water. “Y’know that, Haystack.”

 

“Good thing that’s not in any of my plans.” Ben laughs, getting comfy in the armchair. “Wanna play slapjack?”

 

Richie reaches for the cards. “How about Spoons?”

 

“Not with your scrappy ass.” Ben huffs. “Go Fish it is.”

 

That’s the thing Richie loved most about Ben. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t pressure anything. He was a comforting guy. Not once during their match did he ask about Stan. In fact, he was the one person who hadn’t questioned Stan at all.

 

Richie wasn’t quite sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Ben tended to be the type of person to let things run their course.  _ If it happens, it was meant to be.  _ Richie is pretty sure he’s said that once or twice.

 

But Ben didn’t hold things under a microscope like Eddie, or whine like Bill. He didn’t play the overbearing mother card like Mike. Ben was the kind of person he had been missing during this whole Maggie ordeal. He really took Richie’s mind off things.

 

Ben had offered for Richie to stay until whenever Stan would call back.

 

It was a good thing he didn’t accept the offer, because Stan never did. 


	9. lost and found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three days later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: mentions of recreational drug use (prescription drugs)

“This is such bullshit!” Eddie huffs as he storms back into the kitchen. 

 

That’s what he has been doing for the past thirty minutes, along with stating the obvious and being a total dick. It was about his only three hobbies that he actively participated, unless fucking Bill and Mike counted. 

 

Richie was nestled deep into the worn out couch cushions, head propped up by two pillows and covered in three blankets. Part of it was due to the fact that they were trying to avoid touching the thermostat, the rest of it was him trying to hide in plain sight. 

 

The past few days have been a new sort of hell.

 

Stan never called back, nor did he stop by the house. Richie’s boss called to tell him that if he didn’t show up for his shift the day after what the rest of the crew had called “The Fallout”, he would be fired. Needless to say, he didn’t have a job anymore.

 

Time passes a little wonky when people leave, Richie has begun to notice. He’s still trying to figure out what he did before Stan.

 

He just wishes he had gotten a goodbye of some sort. 

 

But nothing had been worse than Bill looking him in the face with the  _ I told you so  _ eyes. He had gotten those eyes from Bill a lot in the past. Back when they jumped fences and stole shit (and got caught). It usually didn’t apply in these sorts of situations.

 

Eddie, on the other hand, hadn’t shut up. He was constantly taking inventory of all their possessions, as if Stan had stolen any of their shit. Like anything in their house was even worth stealing.

 

“Can you stop?” Even Mike, the calm and collected out of all of them, began to sound a little irritated. “We know it’s bullshit.”

 

“Wuh-we should be comforting him, nu-not-”

 

“Talking like he isn’t there?” Richie snips from his place under the covers.

 

They were babying him. He wasn’t a baby, and he sure as hell didn’t mope this often. He figures that they’re trying to understand it, make some sort of sense out of it. The chances of them doing so were very slim.

 

Richie only moped every now and again. Usually post Maggie. This was far worse than any post-Maggie thing that Richie could think of, however.

 

Richie had been sort of a casanova, once upon a time. Moping over boys (or girls) was incredibly unlikely. When Eddie had broken up with him, he bounced back after only a few moments. When Bill decided they were better off as best friends, he didn’t think twice. He wasn’t even heartbroken.

 

But there was something about knowing he probably wouldn’t see Stan again.

 

No one just conveniently packs up their belongings and then doesn’t contact their boyfriend for three days. Or lies about where they’re going.

 

Eddie, being the nosey little shit he was, had gone to the coffee shop the next day to ask about Stan. Sometimes, Richie wishes that Eddie would mind his own business. He often made things worse. The manager told him that Stanley had turned in his apron that night, and he hadn’t even had a shift.

 

So, yeah. Richie figured he wasn’t coming back.

 

“So-sorry, Richie.” Bill mumbled from his spot on the stoop of the steps. He looked infinitely more tired than usual, and that was saying something since Bill Denbrough usually had perpetual bags under his eyes. 

 

Georgie walked into the living room from the kitchen, a little more calmly than Eddie, who was still pacing, had. “Is Richie still crying?” It’s not said in an accusing tone, but more out of curiosity. 

 

Mike answers, “No, I don’t think-”

 

“Yeah,” Richie doesn’t see the point in lying. “I’m still crying.”

 

Georgie tilts his head, as if he’s thinking for a moment. “Ya want me to make you a sandwich? I think we have two heels left.”

 

Adjusting himself on the couch and sitting up a little, Richie makes eye contact with the youngest guy in the room. He smiles a watery smile. “Sure, Georgie.” He wipes at his eyes with the edge of his blanket. “That sounds great.”

 

The rummaging in the kitchen doesn’t make anyone bat an eye. Georgie has always been one for making a mess. The conversation continues without him regardless.

 

“Who just gets up and leaves like that?” Eddie grumbles. “He was an asshole from the beginning, I knew it.”

 

“If you knew it,” Richie had venom in his voice. “Why didn’t you fucking say something?”

 

“I did! A thousand times!” Eddie’s voice rises, and Richie decides now would be a good time to sink further under the covers. If he’s being honest, there’s no real way to escape the wrath of Eddie Kaspbrak.

 

“I don’t really think we should be talking like that right now.” Mike’s voice was even and nonjudgemental, unlike his two boyfriends’. 

 

Richie didn’t mind the arguing. It was better than moping and sitting in silence. He could deal with Bill giving him pitiful looks. He could definitely deal with Eddie yelling at him. Eddie had yelled at him a lot over the years, so it definitely wasn’t a shock to his system. However, everyone seemed to listen to Mike and it was quiet for a few moments.

 

“Anyone knu-know when Ben is getting off wuh-work?” Bill says, resting his elbow on his knee and propping up his head with his hand. The steps can’t be too comfortable, considering that they aren’t even carpeted.

 

Eddie doesn’t look quite ready to give up his fight yet, shoulders still tense and hands still in fists. He does shake his head a little too aggressively, signalling that he doesn’t actually know when they’re dear friend Ben gets off work.

 

“He said his hours are flexible.” Richie says from under the covers, only popping up when Georgie comes in with his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Thanks bud.”

 

“No problemo, mi amigo.” Georgie doesn’t go to find his own spot in the living room. He just weasel his way onto the couch with Richie. 

 

“This is definitely a MasterChef worthy sandwich, dude.” Richie says, taking a huge bite. Georgie looks pretty proud of himself, and Richie hadn’t seen that look in a while. He was getting older and moodier by the second, and Georgie didn’t exactly think hanging out with Richie was as cool anymore. “But yeah,” He swallows. “We could always call him. Said it’d just take an hour or so to get over here.”

 

“An  _ hour? _ ” Eddie says incredulously, tightening his fists.

 

“We-well it’s not like it’s an emergency.” Bill shrugs. “He already knows what’s up.”

 

Finally, someone was talking some fucking sense. Sure, Richie was sad, but Eddie was furious. And this whole situation didn’t affect him in anyway. Richie isn’t even one hundred percent sure if Eddie knows how he feels about the whole ordeal.

 

Ben and Beverly were definitely the best listeners out of the whole group, Mike slowly trailing behind them. However, Ben was like person with a job...and things were still a bit rocky with Beverly. He would solve it soon enough, and then he could tell her about all of this Stan nonsense. 

 

They had only been together for about six months, but in reality, it all felt so much longer. Stan had felt like the person he would be spending years with, Richie felt like Stan was it for him. 

 

He knows that someone from the outside looking in would see their relationship as some sort of trial run, some fling of the sort. But they hadn’t been there for every moment. Richie had never made himself that vulnerable to anyone besides the people living with him. No other person Richie has dated had met his mother, or even moved in.

 

Richie had, for a lack of better terms, played himself. He knew he did, he would admit it too. He was just a little too trusting. Now he just wondered what pushed Stan over the edge.

 

“Maybe you should try taking a walk, Richie. Clear your mind.” Mike suggested, taking Richie out of whatever space in his mind he had been occupying.

 

“I don’t really want to be alone right now.” He finished his sandwich and went back under the covers. “But maybe tomorrow.”

 

Eddie looked as if he was about to spew some sort of retort, looking like a shaken up bottle ready to explode. Although the crease in his eyebrows went away and a look of realization dawned on his face. 

 

“I just got a bottle of Valium.” He says proudly.

 

“Look at you go, Doctor Kaspbrak.” Richie says, sitting up in interest. He brushes his hair out of his face and adjusts his glasses. “Now go put on those sexy scrubs so you can write me a prescription.”

 

“That is  _ not- _ ”

 

“How that works.” Richie cuts in. “Yeah, I know. But are you offering or not?”

 

\---------------------------------------

 

The next day, Richie took his walk.

 

Whatever the fuck Eddie had given him out of the cabinet did its job. It really made him relax and forget whatever the hell was going on. He’s pretty sure Eddie took two, because the stick that was up his ass magically disappeared.

 

Ben had eventually made it over too, although he spent most of his time talking to Mike, who had abstained from swallowing any pills. His presence, although not direct, was comforting. 

 

He had still managed to pull himself out of bed this morning and get online. Reapplying for jobs was going to be hard, he knew it would be. He really screwed himself over. That’s what he had spent the majority of his day doing, anyway. He had only secured one interview with a shady looking diner, which was ten minutes from the house. Serving was something he was good at, and he figured the demographic of the diner would be more tolerable than his last place of employment. He definitely wasn’t trying to be picky though.

 

Richie knew that if he didn’t secure a job soon, money would get tight again. He hadn’t realized how much he was enjoying not having to worry about money. Stan had helped cover some expenses, food mostly, and Richie had some extra money to do what he wanted.

 

It was a lot to think about in one day. All the thoughts sent his brain into overdrive, eventually turning it into mush.

 

That’s when he remembered Mike’s suggestion from yesterday.

 

_ Why don’t you take a walk, Richie. Clear your mind. _

 

Clearing his mind is exactly what he needed to do, so his feet began moving.

 

Now Richie had lived in Chicago his whole life, he knew how the wind worked and how fast the temperatures could change. But damn, it was cold as fuck and it didn’t help that he had waited for the sun to go down before taking his walk.

 

His flannel/hoodie/jacket combo didn’t seem to be sufficient for the biting wind, which shocked his lungs every time he decided to inhale through his mouth. Luckily his ears wouldn’t be frostbitten since they were covered by his knit hat, and his hands were covered by his fingerless gloves.

 

But fuck. When did Chicago get this damn cold before December? And it probably wouldn’t let up until April.

 

Despite the weather, his feet kept on moving. He didn’t get on the L once, mostly due to the fact that he left his wallet at home. All he had brought with him was his phone. 

 

He avoided all the streets that any sane person would avoid after sundown, and only stopped when blue neon lights glowed over his face. 

 

No.

 

He hadn’t meant to walk here on purpose, he was sure of it. The odds of him showing up at this specific place were so far fetched. If he had knew his feet would take him here, he wouldn’t have left the house at all.

 

It brough him back to a much warmer summer outside this same club, hell. He was probably even wearing the same jeans he had been that night. 

 

_ “Stan.” The man was sweaty and he had a bit of blood on him, even though Richie knew it wasn’t his own. “Yeah, Stanley.” _

 

Richie looked back on the moment a little more critically now. Was he nervous because of Richie presence, or because he had to falsify some name on the spot? The humidity of the night must have clouded his judgement or something.

 

_ “You know, I was going to buy you a drink anyway, so this is a nice coincidence.” _

 

Someone had tried to steal his wallet and went running down the street with it. Of course, before that, Stan had just been some nameless stranger who got a little too close to Richie on the dance floor. But then Stan had gone and ‘defended his honor’ (Eddie’s words, not his).

 

Stanley had been a stuttering mess that night, almost as bad as Bill had been in his youth. Eddie had laughed at his awkwardness, but Richie had found it endearing.

 

Richie hadn’t had any action in a long time, and he looks back now and wonders if that played a factor. It only takes a moment for him to decide, no, it didn’t. Because Stanley was hot, charming, attractive, and deceiving. 

 

He really had deceived Richie. 

 

Richie reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, checking for any messages from any of the guys. There weren’t any, nor were there any calls back from Stan. He quickly scrolled through his call history.

 

God, had he really called thirty times in the past four days?

 

He needed some closure. He called again.

 

The ringing wasn’t long, signalling that either the phone was shut off or dead. Richie wouldn’t be surprised if he had changed numbers when he skipped town, but that didn’t matter right now.

 

_ “Hello, you have reached Stanley Uris. Please state your reason for calling in a brief message after the beep. I’ll get back to you eventually.” _

 

Richie inhaled deeply, ignoring the sting of the cold and the empty promise. The beep sounded. 

 

“Hey,” He said awkwardly, more awkwardly than their first encounter. He gave a nervous laugh. “This is my last call, promise.”

 

The club in front of him was surprisingly busy for a Tuesday night. People pushed past him as he stood on the sidewalk, taking the whole scene in. It was nostalgic, almost too nostalgic for something that had only happened six months ago.

 

He made his way towards the dumpsters in the alley, knowing that it would be a little quieter back there. No one pushing into him, hopping into Ubers on the side of the road.

 

God, he had met Stanley on the road in front of a bunch of Uber drivers.

 

He let out a shaky breath. He never felt so out of words before. He was Trashmouth Tozier. He had a spiel for every situation.

 

“Wherever you are…” He sniffled a bit, rubbing at his nose. “Bye.”

 

He clicked the phone shut, wiped the tears that were brimming in his eyes, and he walked home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now for the epilogue!!!


	10. better than ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later.

In the back corner of the diner, Richie sat at a recently cleared booth. Around him, a few of the late night patrons were finishing off whatever greasy food they needed to satisfy their cravings. 

 

He spent the last thirty minutes signing payroll checks, and now he was organizing them alphabetically for pickup. He’d have to go to the back to tell Bill his check was ready...Bill’s first real check.

 

After years of an unstable but lucrative job, Bill was in a sore spot for cash. Especially since Eddie was going back to college and Mike had injured himself working the year prior. Richie had also desperately needed people in the back since ICE had done a sweep about two weeks ago. Now  _ that  _ he was still bitter about. 

 

Bill hadn’t been too enthusiastic about working at the diner, but he had a feeling things would turn around once he went to the bank to cash his check. Bill always changed his mind pretty quickly once some bills were shoved into his hands.

 

Things had been good. Doing payroll sucked and scheduling was even worse, but the block was pronounced “up-and-coming” quite a while ago. And boy, whoever said that was right. Richie had never made so much money in his life, but it’s not as if he had a lot to compare it to.

 

Having an empty nest wasn’t as lonely as he thought it would be either. 

 

“Hey, Richie!” Steve called from behind the counter. He had a towel slung over one shoulder and a tub of empty dishes in the other. “I think there’s someone out there for you.”

 

Richie looked up from his menial task of envelope sorting with a quizzical expression, He couldn’t think of anyone that would visit him at work.

 

Steve came around the counter and shrugged. As if to explain himself, he pointed out the window and across the street. 

 

His black jeans and crookedly button shirt aren’t necessarily the best protectants against the cold bitter wind, so he grabs his too big coat from the back before heading outside. The bell above him dings.

 

“I’ll be back in a minute!” He manages to get out before letting the door drop behind him. Steve doesn’t respond, nor does his boyfriend at the counter, but he does get a nod from Adrian, who was working the register.  

 

Not only does the cold send a shock to his system, but so does the person sitting on the curb outside of the diner.

 

In all of his time of knowing Stanley Uris, he was practical. He did not drive a motorcycle, especially with ice on the roads. He didn’t wear leather or neglect to wear a helmet. 

 

In fact, the Stan he knew drove a practical car. He wouldn’t even put the key in the ignition until Richie had his seatbelt on.

 

So when he sees Stanley Uris wearing a leather jacket,sitting across the street from a motorcycle with no helmet…. He happened to be a little shocked. The ghost looked nothing similar to the man that Richie remembered. 

 

“Hey-”

 

“No.” Richie says shortly. “You don’t just get to hunt me down and say  _ hey. _ ”

 

“That wasn’t all I was going to say.” Stan said, as if that made any of this okay. Richie knew for a fact that none of it was okay. “I was going to say I missed you.”

 

Two years of radio silence and this is what he got? An “I miss you”? That wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t like Richie spent a lot of his time waiting around, but it didn’t  _ not  _ hurt. He had to stand his ground on this one.

 

“Well,” He takes his hat out of his coat pocket and pulls it over his unbrushed curls. “I didn’t miss you.”

 

Stan doesn’t even flinch, which is kind of what Richie was hoping for. That was something Richie always noticed about Stan. Low blows never seemed to affect him. Not when they came from Richie, or Eddie. Hell, even when Patty was throwing slurs his way, he didn’t budge. 

 

“Could you at least sit down?” Stan asks. 

 

The other thing about Stan was that Richie could never, not ever, say no to him. Even now. Even when Richie was sure that Stan was out of his life for good.

 

He did sit down, but he moved about five feet away from where Stan probably wanted him to sit. Any other day, he wouldn’t want to sit on this curb at all. The streets are usually busy in the daytime, but since it’s around 11 at night, it has definitely quieted down a little bit.

 

The silence between them after he sits down is deafening. He curls in on himself, trying to conserve whatever body heat he can in the December air. 

 

“Things were easier before you left, you know.”

 

“That’s why I came back.”

 

“No, it’s not.” Richie snipped. “And you know it.”

 

Richie was not going to sit here and let himself be...manipulated. Stan wasn’t here to give him an explanation and apologize. Their six months had been good while it lasted, but the more he reflected on that time, the more he realized how sketchy all of it was.

 

Stan rubs at his face with both of his hands. “You just said things were easier before I left,” He points out. “Why’re you so upset about me coming back?”

 

Richie refuses to make eye contact, even though it feels a bit childish. “You should’ve never left in the first place.” He says, voice devoid of any discernible emotion. “Then you wouldn’t of had to come back.”

 

Stan had made his choice two years ago. He said he was going in for work and never came back. That was his choice. Not Richie’s. So Richie felt like he had some sort of right to stop Stan from weaseling his way back into his life again.

 

“Which was all out of my control.” Stan argues. 

 

“You didn’t even have a shift that day!” Richie’s voice raises. “So I was stuck looking like a fool, asking your manager if you ever even came in! I thought you were dead, or kidnapped, or-”

 

“I was.” Stan says plainly.

 

“Or-” Richie pauses, processing. “You what?”

 

“Well, kinda.” Stan shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “You ever get caught doing something shitty?”

 

Richie wonders where this is going for a moment. The irrational part of his brain begins to take over and he thinks about all the stuff he hadn’t told Stan. Had he actually known all along? Was he here to make him pay for his past? It made him a little paranoid, since he wasn’t even sure if he knew Stan’s real name.

He nods regardless.

  
  


Stan believes him. “Ever owe anyone afterwards?”

 

Richie has probably owed a lot of people a lot of things. All he can think of right now is how much he probably owes Bill and Beverly. Those two were always bailing him out of all the shit he had done. Or who Stan cashed in a favor from to find out where the fuck Richie worked, but he’d ask about that later.

 

He nods again.

 

“Well, I owed one person a lot of money for getting me out of my shit. Couldn’t exactly pay up with tips from the coffee shop.” Stan said, as if that answered all of Richie questions.

 

“So you disappeared and turned off your phone?” Richie said bitterly.

 

“I was dragged onto a boat and my phone was thrown in a lake.” At this point, Richie expected Stan to sound somewhat exasperated. He was still the calm and cool person he had always been.

 

“Oh.” Richie said dumbly.

 

“But we could always go back to how things were.”

 

For a split second, that made perfect sense in Richie’s brain. Just for a moment. Because he looked over his shoulder at the man sitting at the counter, hunched over some paper with a pen and a look full of concentration. No, he couldn’t just forget about people who were actually there for him.

 

“Did you actually go to medical school?” Is what comes out of his mouth instead of a yes or no.

 

Stan looked a bit perplexed by the question. It must’ve processed relatively quickly, because his game face was back on. “Yeah, but that shit’s pricey. Stopped my whole grand theft auto schtick when I met you anyway.”

 

“I’m glad I made you a better person.” Richie snarked, not amused by this late confession. 

 

His whole image of Stan is ruined forever, but he figured it had been for a while. Anytime Stan came up in his mind, even in passing, he didn’t associate him with a nice or pleasant emotion. No, Stan had crushed his chances of that. 

 

Why did Stan have to show up in his life again? Hadn’t he ruined it enough already?

 

“I loved you, y’know.” richie added, since Stan didn’t seem to have a response to his last sentiment. “I really loved you.”

 

“I know.” Stan replied.

 

“If you were trying to Han Solo me,” Richie said. “You could at least keep the tense consistent.”

 

“I knew.” Stan said, and he almost looked...Sad? Not heartbroken, Richie was quite aware of what that looked like. But something akin to grief did pass over Stan’s features. 

 

Richie rubs at his eyes, convincing himself that the runny nose and tearing up is from the bitter cold of Chicago. Fuck. Richie had really loved him, and that shit hurt. He was over it too, that was for sure.

 

There was something Ben had told him when he moved out of the house. Richie had been carrying a big box of architecture books, something he would not be found carrying any other time, and had to take a break at the bottom of the stairs. Haystack had kept on trucking, not even batting an eye as he dodged Richie.

 

_ “Y’know,”  _ Ben had said.  _ “Letting people go is real easy if they’re out of sight.” _

 

Richie had thought it was bullshit, especially after all the months of letting go he had attempted. But now he knew Haystack had actually a great deal of wisdom. 

 

“ _ Isn’t that more like running away?”  _ Richie had puffed as he attempted to lift the box again. Running away, like Eddie when he was faced with the task of helping on of his best-fucking-friends move. Bullshit.

 

_ “Not if it’s what’s best for you.” _ Ben had shrugged along with it, and had thrown all of his shit into the back of the truck.

 

Richie knew that Haystack was speaking from experience. Unrequited love was a bitch, especially when the person he was in love with was dating a total demon. Richie still felt like he was stepping on the set of the Exorcist anytime he came anywhere near Patty.

 

But Ben’s advice really had been universal, and Richie was going to use it in this moment. Because Stan was not going to have power over him anymore. He had built a new life, a more stable one, with far more honest people, and it just didn’t have room for Stan to come into the picture and fuck it all up.

 

“You have to let me go, Stan.” 

 

He makes eye contact with Stan for the first time all night, and it hurts more than it probably should’ve. This all was a no-brainer. He had a boyfriend, a nice job, an apartment all to himself. He couldn’t give all of that up for Stanley Uris, the man who left him hanging high and dry.

 

Stan looked at him as if to say  _ Are you sure? _

 

Richie nodded, trying to ignore the tears that welled up in his vision. “You have to let me let you go.” 

 

Stan sits for a moment, shifts a bit on the cold concrete.In the dark, it’s a little hard to read the emotions flitting across his face. From the lights of the diner, Richie can see the one he settles on though. Understanding.

 

Stanley Uris had never been a man of many words, and he wasn't now. Richie watched as he stood up and brushed off his pants, adjusting the collar of his jacket. Time moved a little slower then, Richie was sure of it. Especially when Stan walked across the street to his aforementioned motorcycle.

 

With his ever present grace, he threw his leg over the bike and centered it. Before he revved the engine though, he said one last thing.

 

“You take care of yourself, Richie Tozier!”

 

The engine revved and got louder as Stan pulled out of his spot and swerved away, leaving Richie still sitting on the curb. Leaving him in the dust, but what mattered most was that it was his choice this time.

 

He knew Stan could hear him, but he shouted anyway.

 

“You too!” He laughs, feeling almost euphoric with the weight off his shoulders. “You take care of yourself, too,” Richie pauses and thinks for a moment. “Whatever your name is!”

 

He can’t stop laughing out in the Chicago cold. He feels like running through the streets and spinning in circles. God, he felt like he could fly now. What was holding him back from whatever the fuck he wanted to do? Absolutely nothing. 

 

There on the curb, which he didn’t even know existed until two December’s ago, Richie felt free. 

 

The bell from the diner rings behind him, and Richie turns around.

 

Will Byers looked like a damn angel, even if he was backlit by grimy diner lights. And he was standing there, no jacket, sketchbook in hand. Waiting for Richie. Because if there was one thing that was constant, it was Will Byers.

 

“You doin’ okay, babe?” He said, and he sounded genuinely concerned.

 

Richie answered honestly.

 

“Better than ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for going on this journey with me! there is a sequel planned, along with some oneshots and maybe a prequel. if you would like to see anything in this verse (almost all pairings have existed within it unless they involve stan) feel free to leave it in the comments. I definitely didn't get to expand the relationships and 'verse as much as i wanted to! see you soon :)

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter @stenbrouqhs


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